


The Ward and Her Protecter

by bothromeoandjuliet



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Riverdale (TV) Fusion, Animal Death, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Betty and Veronica are best-friends-for-never, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jughead is a scoffing bodyguard, Kevin still joins a cult, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, The Author Regrets Nothing, Veronica is a high and mighty princess, inspired by reign, just a warning, lamb death, princess and bodyguard au, semi, sheep death, some descriptions of weapony, the cult has issues and is super violent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-05-31 16:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothromeoandjuliet/pseuds/bothromeoandjuliet
Summary: After her father's kingdom is overthrown, Princess Veronica of York is invited to become King Harold's ward in the Riverdale kingdom. Upon her arrival she learns that her safety is not as certain as it appears to be; for there are forces of evil that conspire against her; forces of darkness, and perhaps the most dangerous force of all; her own heart.





	1. New Roots

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been working on this beginning chapter for a few months now, and I'm finally ready for it to see the light of day! I can't promise speedy updates, because I really want to delve in deep with each chapter and craft it until it is exactly what I want, but I have it completely plotted out; ready to be written!  
> I hope you enjoy these chapter; let me know down in the comments what your favorite part was!!  
> \- bothromeoandjuliet <3<3<3

__

_Firelight flickers against the tapestries, reflecting against the delicate stitches of her mother’s embroidery. Screams echo through the stone walls, battling for Veronica’s attention along with her mothers voice and clasping hands._

_“Mija! Mija, I need you to listen to me!”_

_She tears her eyes from the door, focusing as best she can on her mothers words, swallowing the panic that is steadily rising up her throat._

_“I’m listening Mama.” The panic begins rising again as she watches fear fill her mothers eyes. Fear; the one thing that she has never seen in her mothers face. “Oh, Mama, what is going to happen?!”_

_“What is going to happen Mija, is that you are going to be the good girl that your father and I raised you to be, and do exactly as I say. Do you understand me?”_

_Veronica nods her head, eyes widening. The screams may be fewer and further between but the sounds of approaching footsteps pound in her ears. They are getting closer. Her mother notices too, releasing her hands and retreating to her sewing table on the other side of the room. Stepping forward to follow, Veronica halts, stopped by her mothers raised hand and stern voice._

_“I don’t know what is going to happen to you Mija, I cannot promise that you will be safe, that anyone will show you mercy, but what ever happens,” her mother’s jeweled fingers delve into her sewing box, pulling a vial filled with some sort of dark liquid from it. “you do not cry. Even if they kill you or beat you; force you into a convent or throw you away to be eaten by rats on the street, do not let them have the power to say that they brought Veronica, daughter of King Hiram, Princess of the Lodge Kingdom to tears.”_

_The dark liquid swirls in the vial. Her mothers dark eyes flash up to meet hers._

_“Well Mija? Do you promise?”_

_“Yes Mama.” The dark eyes narrow and Veronica mutters out the phrase that has been drilled into and expected of her ever since she was a tiny child._

_“On the blood of King Hiram that flows through my veins, I swear to listen, and what’s more, obey.”_

_Her mothers expression softens at her words and for a moment Veronica is reminded of soft caress on her cheek, picnics in the palace grounds on warm summer days and wrapping herself up in her mother’s velvet gowns while sitting at her feet in the courtroom. It is an expression Veronica hasn’t seen her mother wear in years._

_“Oh, Mija. I love you my darling, and I hope you can forgive me!”_

_“Forgive you for…”_

_Veronica pauses and turns to the door in terror. She can hear the voices, crystal clear, and the steady banging of a battering ram outside; can see silhouette of men’s heads landing against the wall. She looks to her mother, Queen Hermione, that tower of strength, with lips parted, breath heavy, and watches as the now empty vial falls from her mother’s hand, shattering into a million pieces as it hits the wooden floor._

_Out of the corner of her eye Veronica sees the door fall to the ground and men enter the room. Everything is growing darker and the floor seems to heave underneath her feet. Figures move before her, around her mother’s corpse, and she’s falling, has been for such a long time, when she feels arms catching her and a flash of orange darts into her field of vision. The last thing Veronica is conscious of is the sound of a scream, thin in her ears and as her eyelids flutter closed she realizes that it is coming from her._

—— _One week later_

Veronica gasped as she jerked awake, fingers reaching up to rub her pearls, glaring at the unruly sunbeam that shot through the un-curtained carriage window, feeling grateful that she was alone. Sleeping in the presence of anyone was a vulnerability; one that she did not have the luxury to indulge in, although in the current circumstances she very much doubted that she would have been able to help it.

Early that morning; one could almost have said that it was very late last night; she had received her summons to her new home, courtesy of King Harold from the Riverdale Kingdom, were she was to live as he and his wife’s ward. It was a decision, Veronica knew, that had involved many discussions and messengers being sent back and forth, one that very likely wouldn’t have been made had she been eighteen instead of sixteen or if she had been the son of King Hiram instead of his daughter.

Veronica knew that some people thought her undeserving of retaining her title of princess; of still being in a position that earned her respect and not in the mud somewhere feeding someone’s pigs, but Veronica herself was still unsure whether her new life would prove to be a blessing or a curse.

The carriage jolted as it’s wheels rolled over a divot in the road and Veronica leaned forward to investigate the landscape. At home in York the weather had been that of extremes, with scorching hot summers and frigid winters. But here it seemed to still be springtime, with fresh looking greenery and flowers that bloomed as if it was not nearing the beginning of autumn. But Veronica could tell from the standing water in the ditches and the mud that flew from under the wheels to adhere to the carriages sides, that it rained, often and heavily.

Some labors in one of the fields, who were beginning harvest, tipped their caps to the coachman, staring at the carriage with a pleasant curiosity. Veronica shrank back out of sight, not yet prepared to face more of the angry stares that she had been dealing with for the past week. She knew that her face was the one that people now associated with the sins of her parents, but she hadn’t been able to quench the small flicker of hope that she would be able to have a fresh start here.

_“Don’t tell me your already loosing your loyalty Mija.”_

Veronica heard the phantom voice of her father coil inside her ear and shuddered involuntarily, before pulling herself forward into the sunshine once again, fingers reaching for her necklace. Her father was dead, killed for his crimes; and he couldn’t hurt her, or anyone else, ever again. 

At last, many miles and bruised limbs later, the carriage slowed, coming to to a stop in front of a large palace. Brilliantly colored flags fluttered in the breeze and towers reached upwards towards the sky. Veronica smiled to herself, it could almost have been a palace removed from one of her illustrated fable books back home, the very ideal of what a castle should be.

The carriage door swung open and the coachman gave her his hand to steady her as she stepped to the ground, his face impassive.

A crowd of people were gathered underneath the stone arch of the castle entrance. They all seemed to be dressed in light, delicate colors, and Veronica, glancing down at her black mourning dress, felt as out of place as a rose in a pot of daisies. Every pair of eyes were fixed upon her and the stares, although not unfriendly, gave Veronica the sensation that she was slowly sinking to the size of one of the butterflies that her father had had pinned to his study wall back home.

She heard the sound of her trunks being unloaded behind her and swallowed nervously before stepping forward and, after catching sight of a man and woman each wearing a thick circlet of gold upon their heads, bowed deeply, speaking without raising her head.

“Your Majesties, I thank you for your kindness in requesting my presence at your court.” She glanced up through her lashes and saw that her words had had the desired affect, at least partially. The king lips twitched upwards as if he was inclined to smile, but his wife’s gaze darkened, an ugly scowl crossing her face before being smoothed back into it’s former state of superiority.

“You may rise Princess Veronica, and please rest assured, that in my kingdom you are under my complete protection and are to be treated as if you are my own offspring.”

“You are too kind Your Highness.” Veronica murmured, rising to her her full height and looking the king in the eye just as she had been taught.

A blonde girl who seemed to be about Veronica’s own age, ahem-ed into her hand, alerting the king to her presence. He turned, flashing a set of white teeth and shifted her to the front of the group, introducing her as he did so.

“This is my younger daughter, Elizabeth.”

“Oh, but please,” the girl interrupted stepping forward and dropping a curtsy, “call me Betty. I’m only called Elizabeth on formal occasions or by strangers, so you have to call me Betty, for I’m certain that we are going to be the closest of friends!”

Veronica returned the curtsy with a small smile.

“Certainly, if you will call me just Veronica, without any sort of title.”

“Of course!” grabbing Veronica’s hand and pulling her towards the palace doors “But now you must go to your rooms and rest, for tomorrow evening we are hosting a celebratory ball and everyone has heard of your talents in a ballroom!”

Veronica’s heart stilled as she listened to Betty. She could tell that the girl’s words had not been meant to be painful to her intentionally, of course she, like everyone else, would look upon Veronica’s father’s death on the battlefield and her mother’s shameful suicide as blessings; an ink stain forever wiped clean. Veronica had often partaken in many such celebrations with her parents but, naive girl that she had been, Veronica had not once considered what the orphans, the elderly, and the mothers and daughters had felt as they had had to count their dead sons, husbands and fathers.

A dark chuckle from someone in the crowd broke through her thoughts and she quickly righted her face to its former half pleased expression as Betty glanced over her shoulder with a bright smile.

Veronica’s rooms were very fine. White drapes shifted with the ocean breeze and ornate furniture filled the rooms. Veronica’s new ladies-maid, Ethel, had unpacked her things already, leaving along with Betty to allow Veronica to rest after her long journey. Veronica wasn’t tired, but she wasn’t against doing a little play-acting to have some time to herself.

Betty was very…sweet; the sort of girl that Veronica would have mocked in the past, dismissing her as a bubbly airhead, overprotected by everyone to preserve her lighthearted innocence. That sort of carefree optimism could be just what Veronica needed to hold herself together however, it would be much easier for Veronica to pretend that she was perfectly fine if she was having to protect Betty from any sort of unpleasantness.

The sounds of clanking metal and horses whispered through the air to meet her ears as she stepped out onto to balcony. More soldiers returning to their families no doubt, joy filled and victorious. Just how many men had been sacrificed in the name of this war, Veronica wondered, how many children would cry out for their fathers before the day was over? Trumpets trilled in the distance and the salty wind tore through Veronica’s coal colored hair, pulling it across her eyes and into her mouth. Waves crashed against the rocky shoreline, and for some unknowable reason the sound comforted Veronica. Perhaps she was not the most treacherous thing in this place after all.

The time until evening passed faster then Veronica had imagined it would. It seemed that no sooner then she had curled up in bed then she had been re-awoken by the sound of Ethel knocking at her door, having come to dress her for tea, since she had slept through dinner. Veronica had attempted to make smalltalk, but the girl had remained fairly withdrawn, only smiling once at Veronica’s disparagement against the seemingly continuous ocean breeze that required Veronica’s hair to be pulled back into a thickly braided coil on the back of her head. It was a fleeting smile however and as Veronica watched the girl’s concentrated face in the mirror she couldn’t help but think that Ethel might be one of the ones who now had a empty place in the family circle.

Veronica hesitated outside of the drawing room, uneasiness filling her stomach. To enter a room filled with strangers was one thing, Veronica had been successfully charming groups of strangers since she had been able to talk, but entering a room full of strangers who had every reason to dislike her was another thing entirely. Taking a deep breath, gathering her dress in one hand and raising the other to push the door open, Veronica was startled by a sudden voice.

“None of them bite you know.”

Whirling around, Veronica found herself face to face with a tall boy about her age, with a single lifted eyebrow and a tray of tea things in his hand.

“The worst of them is probably the Queen and her bark is worse then her bite when it comes to it. I’m Kevin, by the way, at your service, Your Highness.” He bowed, tilting the tray as he did so and only just managing to keep the items from crashing to the floor as he righted himself. Unconsciously, Veronica broke out into a small smile; a small, real, smile that is.

“How did you know who I was?” Kevin snorted.

“Please, I could count the number of people with black hair who are allowed into the inner palace on one hand of the royal blacksmith, and he’s missing three fingers. Everyone around here practically has the coloring of well grown wheat! With no offense to the royal family of course.”

“Oh, of course not.” Veronica resisted the urge to chuckle before continuing “Any other advice you have for me?”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about anything tonight Your Highness. Duke Fredrick and his son Lord Archibald are here, so you won’t have to worry about the conversation taking any awkward turns.”

“Thank you Kevin. I’ll remember to go to you with all of my questions in the future.” He smiled down at her, transferring his tray to the opposite hand.

“My pleasure Your Highness. Would you like me to announce you?”

Veronica nodded, stepping backwards to allow him to pass her, remaining hidden in the shadows as the door opened and Kevin cried out,

“Her Royal Highness Princess Veronica!”

Every eye was on her as she entered the room. Betty had half raised herself from her chair, a smile covering her face and the queen at least attempted to keep her face as neutral as possible. The three men had risen to their feet when she passed over the threshold, with the king acknowledging Veronica with a solemn nod, while a gentle looking man who stood next to the fireplace whom Veronica immediately determined to be the duke, and a broad, red headed young man who must be his son, bowed to her. She curtsied, accepting the introduction of the duke and his son with a lowering of her head and a polite smile, before allowing herself to be pulled into a seat next to Betty on the soft couch.

The fire seemed to be uselessly warm for the time of year and looking towards it Veronica could count at least fifteen large logs freshly stocked near the top of the flames, and after she caught sight of the queen reaching for an embroidery hoop, Veronica began to earnestly wish that she could run back to her rooms or preferably never had had to leave them at all. Her eyes stung; and even though she told herself that it was only from the smoke of the fire, she didn’t look to that side of the room again.

Feeling the sensation of eyes upon her, Veronica looked up from her hands to meet the gaze of Lord Archibald from were he stood on the opposite side of the drawing room. Evidently he took Veronica’s eye contact to somehow be an invitation for, with a polite nod to the king and his father, he crossed the room to stand before her and Betty, a boyish smile overtaking his features.

Beside her on the couch Betty straightened herself, the smile on her face growing even larger if that is even possible. It was only a slight adjustment, that could have been purely coincidental in normal eyes. However, Veronica had not been raised to be a fool, and could easily see where the wind was blowing.

“It is a pleasure to see you looking so much better Your Highness.”

His brown eyes shone gently down upon her and Veronica found herself scrambling through her memory, trying to think of a time that she had seen the redhead previous to tonight. She couldn’t seem to and was only saved from an awkward pause by Betty chirping out,

“Oh yes Veronica! Archie…That is, Lord Archibald was telling us at dinner how he was the one to carry you out of your palace to safety during the final battle!”

Oh. That’s who he was then, was it? She could remember him now, or bits of him anyway. The image of strong arms and that flash of orange flickered in her mind for a moment; replaced almost instantly by the sight of her mother’s body laying prostrate on the floor. Veronica guarded her eyes, careful to not betray any sort of unpleasant emotion and looking up she was gratified to see that the boy has enough presence of mind to look embarrassed at the mention of their original meeting.

“Well Lord Archibald,”

“It’s just Archie!” he blurted out before turning a deep shade of red and ducking his head.

“I mean, you can call me Archie if you would like to. All my other friends do.”

Veronica gave him a smile; one that’s a little less forced then her smiles normally are, and pretended that she didn’t see Betty’s smile falter.

“All right then; Archie, thank you for ensuring my safety. I’m not sure that very many people would have shown me as much kindness as you did.”

Archie stuttered out something incoherent about it being no trouble before making his escape to the other side of the room, ears almost indistinguishable from his hair. Betty had picked up a book to discourage conversation; Veronica’s head began to pound and she groaned internally after looking towards the clock; it’s perverse hands showing her that good manners demand that she remain with the rest of the company for another half hour.

Her legs almost buckled beneath her as she stood, moving over to the tea tray which had been left out for their convenience. That particular corner of the room was the furthest from the fire so she stayed put; sipping her tea and not really paying attention to anything else until her ears pricked up at the sound of her name.

The King and Duke Fredrick stood within earshot of Veronica and even though their voices were low she was just able to make out what they are saying; silently blessing her parents for insisting that she learn how to eavesdrop unobserved.

“If Duke Clifford continues with his vendetta against Princess Veronica things will not remain peaceful for long Your Majesty.”

“I know Fredrick, I am aware of his increasingly erratic behavior ever since his son’s death, however, I cannot truly believe that even he would place the princess in danger; if only to protect his position at court.”

Duke Fredrick shifted uncomfortably, glancing in Veronica’s direction furtively. She kept her eyes trained the fire, pretending to pay no heed to anything around her, breathing a sigh of relief once his gaze had turned away.

“But Your Majesty, there have been reports of him promoting violent action and-“

“Nothing but words my friend. Words can do no harm; and trust me when I tell you that the moment I feel that Princess Veronica is under threat of any danger I shall do my upmost to protect her. As it stands now however, all that can be held against Clifford is circumstantial at best and;” here the king straightened to his full height “I refuse to make the princess feel that she is a prisoner in her own home, new and unfamiliar as it is.”

From there the conversation drifted into other topics and Veronica ceased paying any attention, her mind instead focused on the information that she had just overheard. So somebody was threatening her were they? Veronica supposed that it wasn’t that surprising really, her father had been cruel man, and an even crueler ruler. It was little surprise that one or more of his enemies took offense to her being allowed to remain free.

 _‘_ _Its not like I can do anything about it.’_ Veronica thought to herself. She was right; and she knew it but she couldn’t help the worry that bobbed up and down in the back of her mind.

The clock bellowed and seeing that her absence would now be socially acceptable, Veronica said her farewells for the night, hurrying out to the cool air of the corridor as speedily as she could.

Sounds echoed against the stone walls and Veronica felt a chill creep up the back of her neck as she stepped lightly down the corridor that led to her new rooms. A floorboard squeaked underfoot and Veronica took as deep a breath as she could, trying to convince herself that her terror was only a reaction to the news that some duke wanted her head on a platter.

But then the floorboard squeaked again.

She whirled around, fingers clutching at her pearls, eyes widening. The corridor was as empty as it had been, but Veronica knew that someone was there, could feel it in the way that her pulse kept jumping up in speed.

“I would advise the person who is following me to show themselves. I should like to see your face for one thing, and for another I would rather not have it be said that I was assassinated by someone who couldn’t even walk down a hallway without making their presence known.”

“Relax Princess. Nobody is trying to kill you.”

The voice was harsh against her ears and a tall figure appeared from one of the shadowy doorways, making it's way into the candlelight. The man was much closer to her then Veronica had thought he was, and as he advanced she took an involuntary step back.

The tone of his words was vaguely flippant and if she were still at home, she could have had the man instantly dismissed from her presence, or even exiled for speaking to her like that. But Veronica wasn't at home and probably never would be again, so instead she sneered and said in the most condescending tone that she could muster,

“I think that I'm probably the best judge of that, thank you.”

The passageway was dim and Veronica narrowed her eyes in an attempt to distinguish the man's features, with very little success, before continuing.

“Who are you anyway? And how do you know who I am?”

“Because, _Princess_ , it's my job to know who people are.”

He turned away, back to Veronica as he began to leave.

“Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?”

“Well as the chances of us ever being in one another’s company again is unlikely at best, I’m going to say that it doesn’t matter, Princess.”

The man turned through a doorway, disappearing out of sight. Veronica considered going after him, but the thought of chasing a mysterious stranger through the halls of a unfamiliar castle was less then appealing to her sense of self-preservation.

A fire had been lit in her bedchamber, it's heated glare burning into her eyes. Ethel helped her undress quietly, her face averted whenever it could be. Veronica considered asking her about the strange man, but seeing the way that Ethel seemed to flinch away from her whenever she spoke, changed her mind and instead sent her away early, insisting that she could undo her hair herself. The girl’s thanks was given with a slight upturning of the lips and after she had closed the door behind her, Veronica slumped in her chair with a sigh, grateful that at least one person’s life had been improved by her presence.

The fire crackled; snapping, sizzling drops of moisture popped in Veronica’s ears. It was too loud, too constant. Back at home the only place where there had been a regular fire was her father study, and Veronica had only gone there when she was to be lectured or punished about something. She had always hated her father’s fires, they were too smoky, too oppressive, had warmed the spilled blood of too many people who had been unlucky enough to catch her father’s attention.

Blood rushed in her ears, spots appearing before her eyes. The water pitcher felt light in Veronica’s hands, the wet wood sizzled as the flames begin to disperse, disappearing into darkness and as the last spark faded away Veronica could feel the knot in her chest loosen ever-so-slightly.

Untangling her hair, Veronica watched as the long, white curtains fluttered against the floor, wind from the ocean blowing them gently to and fro, and once the final hair-pin had been removed she walked across to each window, closing and locking them all tightly. Veronica didn’t doubt that the palace was well guarded but her self-preservation instinct was stronger then her trust, and Veronica had seen some ivy climbing up the stone next to her balcony that looked strong enough to be climbed.

This done, Veronica retreated to her bed; nestling under thick furs and woven blankets. Overall her first day had been fairly uneventful; almost pleasant really, but she couldn’t help but pull the covers a bit closer at the thought of the danger she was in, and at the memory of the strange man in the corridor.

* * *

Veronica awoke to sunlight streaming though her window, and breakfast in bed the next morning, in addition to the news that, since the royal family would be preparing for the evening’s celebration for most of the day, there would be no need for her to make an appearance until the ball itself.

“Did you sleep well Your Highness?” Asked Ethel as she tightened Veronica’s corset, her fingers growing red where the ribbons cut against them.

“I suppose I…ahh…I suppose I slept as well as one could be expect to in…ughh…an unfamiliar place.”

Ethel nodded silently, red curls bobbing up and down as she fastened the final set of ribbons on Veronica’s corset. Her expression was despondent at best and Veronica scrambled to find something else to say that might lighten the atmosphere.

“Will you also be attending the ball, Ethel?”

“Oh, no. Not I, Your Highness; the servants are not invited unless they be workin’. I’ll most probably go into the village to visit with my mother.”

“Well I hope you find your mother well. However…I do think it’s rather a shame that you aren’t invited. After all, the servants are just as much a part of the kingdom as anyone else, aren’t they?” smoothing her hands along the bodice of her gown that Ethel had just helped her into.

“I…I suppose so Your Highness. And I do believe that King Harold has arranged for some sort of below-stairs celebration.”

“But you would rather go home then attend it? I quite sympathize with you, what would I give to return home, even if it were only for one night.” Veronica murmured, feeling the expression of cheerfulness that usually remained stiff on her face droop slightly.

A moment of silence filled the room and then raising her eyes to the mirror Veronica saw Ethel watching her with a conflicted expression on her pale face. She straightened as she saw it, well aware that she had revealed more then she had intended to, and returned to the former topic as quickly as she could to recover from her slip-up.

“Still, I am, I confess, a little surprised that there isn’t any young man you would want to dance the night away with…” glancing in the mirror with her eyebrow arched.

Ethel’s face flushed and she turned away hastily, reaching for a set of hair pins in an attempt to avoid Veronica’s stare.

“…Then again, perhaps there is someone. An ignorant someone that is; someone unaware of your…inclination.”

“He’s…” Ethel, blushing and flustered, stumbled over her words, and Veronica winced as a particularly pointy pin dug against her scalp.

“He’s not like…He won’t be there tonight in any case and…”

“And?”

“He is not one for dancin’ Your Highness.”

“Nonsense,” Veronica scoffed “how could he not dance when there is such a temptation?”

Ethel shook her head and turned away once again, embarrassed by Veronica’s flattery perhaps, or maybe just uncomfortable with the personal turn that the conversation had taken.

The door at the far side of the room opened and one of the guards came through it, expression stiff as he announced,

“Princess Elizabeth requests admittance, Your Highness.”

“Of course, send her in directly.” Veronica answered, smoothing her face into a pleasant smile, although her toes curled inside her silk slippers at the request.

Betty entered, her barely-pink skirts rustling against the floor as she passed Ethel’s exiting form. She was smiling but Veronica could tell from the way her glance darted about the room that her smile was more of a territorial barring of teeth then anything truly friendly.

“Hello Veronica, darling! I do hope you slept well.”

“I slept quite well, as did you, I hope.”

“Certainly. I mean, yes I did, of course I did.” Green eyes trailing curiously over the selection of gowns that were hanging inside the open wardrobe awaiting their selection for the evening’s festivities. “I was wondering if you would like to accompany me on a tour of some of the castle. I thought it might be useful to since you only arrived last night, and thus would be quite lost and bored should you attempt to explore it alone.”

‘ _A very reasonable and polite request,’_ Veronica thought, ‘ _but to be amiable and useful isn’t your aim I fancy. No, there is something else that you’re expecting to get from this, but what that is I cannot imagine.’_

Outwardly however, Veronica kept her face neutral, declaring that she would be delighted to explore the nooks and crannies of her new home. Betty simpered back that it was no trouble, no trouble at all, and so they walked off together, arm in arm and passing compliments back and forth like they were dangerous vials of poison.

Having made their way through the upper rooms fairly quickly, Betty and Veronica turned downstairs, exploring the library, portrait gallery, and the many main parlors with a sort of disinterested leisure. All the rooms were very fine and comfortable, but Veronica got the feeling that Betty was looking for something; abruptly cutting herself off mid sentence whenever they entered a new room and glancing sharply about before continuing her flow of speech. She went on like that for some time, but it wasn’t until they were in one of the corridors leading to one of the less frequently used parlors that Veronica’s curiosity as to why was satisfied.

Rounding a corner, Veronica had become aware of the sound of a pianoforte being played, indeed being played very well, and she had just parted her lips in preparation to ask about it when the playing cut off abruptly and Lord Archibald exited the room they were headed towards, closing the door behind him with a bang.

“Betty!” he cried startled, then, having noticed Veronica “And Your Highness; this is an unexpected surprise!”

“I hope we have not disturbed you.” Betty said, releasing Veronica’s arm as Archie walked towards them.

“No, no. I had just finished; I don’t think I could have stomached anymore today.”

“Then,” Veronica began and as she spoke Archie’s eyes turned towards her expectantly “was that you whom I heard playing just now?”

“Well, I mean, yes, I suppose so. I should apologize for racket, it could not have been pleasant to hear.”

“On the contrary, I was just going to congratulate you on your talent. It is rare to hear such a well done performance, particularly one by a private individual. It is unusual to hear a performance that is not propped up with false skill and refinement. Every young lady from a parlormaid up, can plunk out a tune and be praised for it.”

Betty sniffed, turning away slightly from the conversation in which she had no part, and looked out the window towards the ocean below. Veronica pointedly ignored her, instead focusing all her attention on Lord Archibald and giving a smile that aided in flushing his face.

“You speak harshly on your fellow creature, Your Highness, but I am sure that you would not do so unless you were very skilled yourself.”

“I have been taught, and, if I may say so, learned fairly well, but I don’t believe that the two things are necessarily connected. Even if I had no ability myself, I should very probably think just the same as I do now, only the motive would be different. Then, everything I said would be twinged with the bitterness of jealousy, but as I am it comes from a place of having had to listen to far too many mediocre performers.”

He shook his head at her, attempting to persuade her to change her mind, but Veronica merely laughed at him saying, “No, no. You shall never be able to convince me out of my convictions, and if we were to stand here for another hour I should tell you so at great length, but,” catching sight of a servant wearing a tunic marked with Lord Fredrick’s arms, “as you appear to be wanted elsewhere, we shall have to keep our argument for a later date.”

Lord Archibald smiled, and bowing politely to both Veronica and Betty, left them to themselves and their own amusements. No sooner had he disappeared around the corner, did Betty recapture Veronica’s arm and turn them back towards Veronica’s rooms, retracing their former steps. 

“I hadn’t realized that you were so _very_ musical, Veronica. In our reports of you we heard nothing of it.”

“Very likely not. Rumors never are the most reliable of sources, and although I love music dearly, I have too many interests for music to be an all-consuming hobby.”

Betty nodded slowly at her words, her eyes fixed on the floor. A handful of servants passed them, arms filled with glassware and Betty waited for them to exit the room before continuing.

“Doubtless you find it strange that a man such as Lord Archibald, with all his strength and swordsmanship, should ever be able to find the time to indulge in music.”

“On the contrary, I find it admiral that Lord Archibald allows himself the pleasure of music. I have seen too many men grow hardened in the face of war and violence. It’s just self-preservation, I suppose, but it does dishearten me to see it.”

“I suppose.” Betty shrugged, her grip on Veronica’s arm tightening “However…But perhaps we will not understand one-another.”

Veronica encouraged her to continue however, and so Betty did, her voice taking on a steelier tone as she spoke.

“I have known Lord Archibald since we were children; indeed, I believe it could be said that we grew up together. I must admit however, that in the past few years I have grown very…worried about him.”

“Worried about him? In what way; you cannot fear for his health, for I’ve never seen such a fine example of it.”

“Not his health, no, certainly not. It is more that…Lord Archibald is a gentle soul; and like his father he is rather too…Well let us say trusting. He tries to see the best in people, even if there is very little good to find.”

_‘And by people I can only assume you mean me. A clever tactic I suppose, however you shouldn’t have made the mistake that you are pretending to save Archie from. It is your own decision whether or not to reveal your hand, just as it is my own decision whether or not I shall bow down to your wishes.’_

Thus ran Veronica’s thoughts, but her face remained clear of them and as she said nothing, Betty was forced to continue unsupported.

“With worries such as this pressing on my mind I have attempted to protect him from himself whenever the opportunity presents itself. You understand me?”

“Quite.”

Betty glanced sharply at her, perhaps having heard a slight coldness in Veronica’s reply, but Veronica smiled pleasantly at her and so the girl was left with no response except to grip Veronica’s arm even tighter.

“It is all in his own best interest of course. He is in a very delicate position here at court; his father is well received by my father, but it does not follow that my brother will look upon Lord Archibald with equal favor. He is watched carefully, and those whom he associates with must not taint his reputation.”

“Undoubtably, but do you really think that your father would allow such person to enter court? It would not be very wise to expose his family and friends to such a disagreeable influence.”

“My father is a _wise_ man, but that wisdom and prudence are one and the same is a fact that I am no longer sure of.” Stopping at the bottom of one of the great staircases. “I do hope, Veronica darling, that we understand one-another.”

“I believe that we understand one-another perfectly.”

“Oh, I am so glad!” Betty cried, at last releasing Veronica’s arm from her vice grip. “I should escort you back to your rooms, but I’m sure you shall forgive me if I rush off now, for I am certain that my mother has been waiting for me this half hour!”

And with those parting words Betty rushed off, leaving a trail of billowing skirts and confused looking servants in her wake.

* * *

The candlelight flicked bravely from the chandeliers, glowing softly against the many full-skirted gowns that rustled over the floor. Veronica stood at the edge of the dancing, watching the sets of happy faces as they went up and down before her, longing to dance but feeling too out of place to do so.

Veronica had entered with the royal family, with exception to Prince Charles who had not yet arrived at the balls beginning, but the King and Queen had gone to their thrones and Betty had not stayed by her side a minute longer then she had to, so Veronica had been forced to shift for herself for the past hour, enduring the stares, some hostile, some merely curious, that most of her fellow guests had no qualms in leveling towards her.

“What, Princess Veronica all alone?” came a cheerful voice from behind her “No, this cannot possibly be. All rational thought is repulsed by the idea!”

Veronica turned towards the speaker, and seeing that it was Lord Archibald, offered him her hand, and said,

“And yet it is the truth, Lor- Archie. They think me a curiosity; which is to say that they look at me a great deal, but would not come near me of their own accord. It is only to be expected however, and I shall grow used to it after a week or so I suppose.”

“A week or so? That would be unpardonable; no, indeed I must protest. Come with me and let me introduce you to the prince and another friend of mine, for although I am not a constant fixture at court, they both are, and with them by your side you will have your pick of acquaintances and friends.”

He offered his arm to her, and so Veronica, noticing that Betty was advancing towards them and not really inclined to spend more time alone, took it and advanced with him to the opposite side of the room.

“I would ask you to dance Your Highness, but as this dance is nearly over, you will forgive me for postponing my request until a new one begins.”

Veronica hastened to assure him that no such request was necessary and by the time she had finished, they had reached the two men that Lord Archibald had evidentially been seeking.

“May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Veronica. Your Highness, it is my pleasure to introduce you to His Royal Highness, Prince Charles, Heir Presumptive to the throne and to one of our most courageous members of the royal guard, Sir Forsythe.”

Both men bowed to Veronica, but the prince showed himself to be the truer gentleman by taking her hand and raising it to his lips as he did so.

“You have my most sincere apologizes for not greeting you sooner Your Highness, I should have done it directly, had it not been for the fact that I’ve been away accompanying my sister and her in-laws to court.”

“There’s no need for that Your Royal Highness, I am in no way offended.”

“Call me Charles, please. All these titles are far to troublesome, don’t you think?”

“Indeed they are, and therefor I insist you call me Veronica.”

“Veronica then.” Charles smiled down at her, releasing her hand “Now that we are friends Veronica, I have a secret to tell you. Shall you like to hear it?”

Veronica glanced towards Archie, slightly wary at the Crown Prince’s request, but he was smiling brightly without the smallest hint of concern.

“I never refuse to hear secrets.”

“That is a very good policy, and you shall be rewarded for it. This man was introduced to you as Sir Forsythe, but that is not his name, or, not the name he is known by at any rate.”

“Really?” Veronica inquired, turning towards the man in question and examining him, choosing to ignore the fact that he was doing the same, dragging his stare from the top of her head to the hem of her black velvet gown. “Then what name is he known by?”

Charles laughed, throwing his arm round the taller man’s shoulders as he replied,”We call him Jughead, the reason being that once, hoping to escape the wrath of the court’s cook, he thrust his head inside a wide-lipped, wooden jug, attempting to disguise himself. He was discovered however, and spent the rest of the day getting the jug removed from his head, which is the only reason he escaped the cook’s rage I believe.”

Both Archie and the Prince burst into laughter, and so Veronica, although she didn’t really believe the story, laughed along with them, the hairs on the back of her neck rising slightly as she did so.

“You’ve left the story half finished Charles,” Jughead said, turning his eyes to the prince and interrupting his laughter. “I had gone into the kitchens at your request and Archie was the one who suggested the jug as a disguise.”

That voice; Veronica knew that voice, and fixing her eyes on him, Veronica realized that he was the man who’d spoken to her in the corridor the night before. Archie and Charles’ laughter rose once again at Jughead’s addition to their story and Veronica’s anger rose with it; rose so much that she had to bite her lip to stop herself from speaking out.

The idea that she had been frightened by someone as lowly as a member of the Royal Guard was disgusting, downright disgraceful really. His impertinence, which had been forgettable when charged to some sort of paid assassin, was unforgivable, really, completely unforgivable. Veronica opened her mouth to tell him so, but as she did he felt her gaze upon him and turned to her, an insolent smirk covering his face and stealing the very words from her throat. Smirking, at her, a princess, when he was merely a lowly servant? The very thought filled her vision with white hot rage.

Behind Veronica the dance ended, forcing the dancers to disperse, creating a steaming mass of confusion and chaos. Archie turned towards her, extending his hand to her, claiming his promised dance, the prince stepped away to speak to a young woman with fiery red hair, and all the while Veronica kept her eyes burning into Jughead’s face.

He met her eye boldly, in no way confused as to her seething anger; but as the orchestra struck up again he glanced behind her, brow tightening in worry. He met her eye again, again glanced upwards, and then, as if he’d been released form a straining rope, darted forwards, gathering Veronica in his arms and pulling her down to the floor as screams erupted around them.

“Release me this instate, you oaf!” Veronica cried out, wrenching herself away from his grasp. “What reason do you give for attacking me in such a manner?”

“I don’t think I’m the one you should be asking, Princess.” Jughead said, rising to his feet and pointing towards one of the ornately carved pillars. Veronica followed his direction, gasping as she saw what everyone else was already talking over.

It was an arrow, with bright red plumage, sticking out of the pillar right where Veronica’s head had been only a few moments before.


	2. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you have a reason for believing that Princess was the one primarily in danger?” asked the king, pulling Jughead's attention back to him.  
> You mean other then the fact that the arrow was about to rip through the back of her head? Jughead thought to himself, annoyed at the useless question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Jughead pov chapter, first set of insights as to Jughead's relationship with Charles, and Jughead and Veronica's first fight.  
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter; let me now what you thought!  
> \- bothromeoandjuliet

“A most horrific affair!” King Harold cried out as he passed up and down before the thrones he and his wife had been sitting in peacefully a mere handful of hours ago. “I have never seen a more revolting display of violence and cowardice in all my born days. An assassin, inside _my_ home, attacking _my_ guests?”

Glancing to the left side of the room, Jughead watched as Charles shifted uncomfortably. The ball had been broken up, all the guests who were staying at court had been bundled off to their rooms and the guests who were not had been sent back to wherever they had originally come from, but a few of the more trusted servants still remained, their ears primed and ready for any hint of gossip they could catch.

Duke Fredrick attempted to soothe the king’s nerves, and under the cover of his voice, Jughead leaned over to where Archie stood beside him and whispered, “Don’t you think it would be wiser to remove anyone unnecessary? Princess Veronica,” gesturing in her general direction, “is the only remaining lady present and I believe that the danger of her falling into a fit or fainting is passed.”

Archie’s stare darted in the direction Jughead had indicated and, nodding tersely, he stepped towards one of the serving boys, speaking in a hushed voice to him. The boy’s eager expression shifted into one of disappointment, but he nodded, and after Archie had finished speaking, he collected his fellow servants, ushering them out of the room much quicker then Jughead had expected he would.

“Forsythe,” the king called, indicating that Jughead should come nearer “do you have anymore information you can give us as to the attacker’s identity? I know you have gone over this already with Sir Marcus and Lord Fredrick, but I should like to hear it from you directly, and you never know what fresh information can be gained through re-examination.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I was standing with His Royal Highness Prince Charles, Lord Archibald and Princess Veronica, there; on the right side of the ballroom, just at the edge of the dance floor. The dance had just ended and since the dancers were dispersing I had a clear view to the opposite side of the room.”

“Just there; underneath the shadows of the pillars, at the edge of the corridor?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I was looking over the room and the head of the arrow caught my attention from the way that it was glinting from the candlelight. At first I wasn’t certain what it was, but on observing it again I became positive that it was the head of an arrow.”

“And that is when you made the move to protect Princess Veronica.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Here, Jughead glanced towards where the Princess was standing, chin raised defiantly. Their eyes met for only the briefest of moments before she had turned away from him again, leaving Jughead to bite back the smirk that was wanting to cover his face; a reaction to the scowl that covered hers.

“Did you have a reason for believing that Princess was the one primarily in danger?” asked the king, pulling Jughead's attention back to him.

 _You mean other then the fact that the arrow was about to rip through the back of her head?_ Jughead thought to himself, annoyed at the useless question.

“Only the reason that it was pointed so directly towards her, Your Majesty.”

King Harold nodded thoughtfully, waving his hand to indicate he had no more questions and Jughead stepped back, palms twitching in anticipation. He knew that a selection of the Royal Guard had already been sent out to apprehend the would-be assassin but he couldn’t help but wish that he could be out with them, instead of being stuck telling the same story over and over.

“Veronica,” said King Harold, stepping over to where she stood. “Veronica, did you see anything?”

All eyes turned towards the princess and she hesitated, seeming to consider her words careful before replying, “No…No I didn’t see anything. It was too crowded when I first came in and when I was standing with His Royal Highness, Prince Charles and Lord Archibald my back was to the rest of the room, making it impossible for me to see anything.”

The King nodded once again, expression slightly vacant. Archie stepped closer to Princess Veronica, speaking to her in a sympathetic whisper that Jughead couldn’t quite catch and Sir Marcus shifted closer to the main door, clearly anxious to be gone.

“Perhaps,” murmured Duke Fredrick “as there is nothing else that can really be done tonight that has not already been done, perhaps it would be better for us to get what rest we can before morning reaches us, particularly in the case of Princess Veronica…”

“Hmm?” King Harold asked, jerking himself from his thoughts. “Oh, yes you are right Fredrick, quite right. Princess Veronica has been exerting herself more then she should after such an evening as this, and we have been very selfish in asking it of her. Well, Your Highness,” turning to her “it appears this is all we can do tonight. We shall, of course, appoint more guards to your rooms and have one escourt you to your rooms tonight. Doubtless we shall have more information in the morning.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” curtseying deeply as she spoke.

“If it’s all the same to Your Majesty,” interrupted Archie, forestalling Princess Veronica from walking to the door “I should like to escourt the princess to her room personally. Not that I don’t have faith in the castle’s guards, I just would feel more secure in my mind if I were to-“

“Whatever makes the princess feel most secure will be perfectly acceptable I’m sure.”

Archie nodded and offered Veronica his arm. She took it, Jughead thought, with more gratitude then she probably wanted to betray. Her face, though it remained unmarred by tears, was held tight and had taken on a color akin to the pale pearls around her throat. Her parents had not managed to train _all_ natural feeling out of her it seemed.

King Harold watched them out of the room, lips pursed, waiting for the heavy oak door to be shut behind them before speaking his mind. The air seemed lighter now that Princess Veronica had left the room; why exactly, Jughead wasn’t sure, but something about her managed to set his blood boiling.

“Any attempt to discover Princess Veronica’s attacker will prove to be futile I fear.” the king began, turning to walk up the steps to his throne “However, a lead was presented to me before tonight, a lead that I was foolish enough to ignore and nearly resulted in disaster.”

He reached his throne and sat on it with a sigh that was full of regret.

“Sir Marcus, I want you to go with a group of your best men to the area of land presided over by Duke Clifford. It has been brought to my attention that he has been speaking out against Princess Veronica and promoting violence, which makes him the most realistic suspect.”

Sir Marcus bowed, murmuring his farewells as he did so. The door closed behind him with a bang and only four people remained.

“Fredrick, all I ask of you is to keep an eye on Clifford tomorrow. He and his family are leaving in the afternoon but I want to be certain that nothing untoward happens while he is still with us. Charles, I would like you to return with them and stay with them for a few days if you can manage it, and as for you Forsythe,” turning towards him “I have a most important task for you.”

Jughead scrambled his brains as quickly as he could to think of what King Harold would be asking of him. He couldn’t be wanting Jughead to lead the Royal Guard during Sir Marcus’ absence, and it would be Sir Marcus’ job to choose him to join the stealth mission.

“Yes Your Majesty?”

“You showed yourself to be very quick thinking and brave tonight Forsythe. If you had not reacted with the alacrity that you did we would very likely be searching for Princess Veronica’s murderer instead of her attacker, and therefor I have decided to make you, her personal bodyguard until we have reached the end of this terrible business.”

Jughead tightened his jaw sharply, hearing his teeth squeak together on contact. He had no interest in acting as a wet-nurse to a spoiled princess, especially not one who’s father had caused the deaths of so many innocents. An order from his king however, was not something Jughead could argue with or ignore.

“Very well Your Majesty. When would you like me to begin?”

“I don’t think it will be necessary tonight, as the princess has already returned to her rooms, so I believe it would be best for you to start in the morning, or after whatever time I’ve managed to speak to Her Highness and explain the situation to her.”

Jughead nodded tersely, not trusting himself enough to say anything, and soon after the party broke up, each man hurrying to his own pillow and dreams.

* * *

The sun shone brightly the next morning, something that it had no business doing in Jughead’s opinion; shining brightly off the polished floors outside the king’s study, right into Jughead’s eyes.

He had woken early and dressed in a great hurry, not wanting to be late for the morning’s meeting with King Harold and Princess Veronica, but it appeared that he needn’t have bothered. The clock had already reached nine-thirty and Miss High and Mighty still hadn’t appeared, meaning that Jughead had missed his breakfast for nothing.

He was seriously beginning to doubt that saving her life had been worth it.

“Standing sentry duty Jughead?” called a voice, and looking towards it, Jughead was greeted with the sight of Charles advancing down the hall towards him.

“I haven’t got a choice, I’m supposed to be here when her Royal-ness arrives.”

“Oh come, you’ve only met her once, how can you have a bad opinion of her already?”

“I believe that one meeting would be all it would take to have a bad opinion of her. Even you could see that the only thing cruelty could create was more cruelty.”

“You’re judging her by the stories you’ve heard about her parents; I thought you more capable of rational thought then that Jughead.”

Charles’ tone was disappointed but Jughead just rolled his eyes, refusing to be guilted into anything. That he was prejudiced against Princess Veronica, he could not deny, but neither of their two meetings had at all attempted to change his mind. In the first, she had been condescending, and in the second she had been foolish, laughing at jokes only to curry favor. He was thoroughly disgusted with her, and no disappointed words could change that.

“You are too easily led Charles. You barely spoke more then a dozen words to her and yet she already has you eating out of the palm of her hand.”

Charles laughed and, shoving an apple in Jughead’s direction, said, “Perhaps I am more willing to give second chances when they are asked for by a pretty face; and that Veronica has a pretty face is something that not even you, in all your superiority, can deny.”

Jughead paused, considering, then said, “She is striking I suppose, but so are three-legged cats and broken swords. You can never say that it is a compliment to be called striking.”

His companion said nothing for a moment, and Jughead took the opportunity to bite into his apple, enjoying the tart juice as it ran over his tongue. It pleased him that he’d managed to silence Charles; it even made the glaring of the sun seem slightly less irritating to his eyes.

“I wish you would not always be so quick to come to a conclusion Jughead.” Charles said at last, walking over to the window to look down at the courtyard below.

“One of these days you’re going to decide on something that you’re wrong about, and will, I fear, come to severely regret it. How do you plan on spending every single one of your waking hours at the calling of someone you have already convinced yourself that you despise?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps I shall end up going mad.”

He laughed as he spoke, but Charles’ expression remained stern, forcing Jughead to stifle his mirth.

“I am really very serious this time Jughead. It is not something to laugh at.”

“Charles, you know me; you know that it isn’t in my nature to change my mind. However, if it really means that much to you, I shall promise to try to see the good in her. Only _try_ mind you!” He warned, lifting a hand to forestall Charles’ excited exclamation.

“For you to try is all I ask.” Charles reassured him, straightening “And it appears your time for _trying_ is right on hand.” for Princess Veronica had appeared at the end of the corridor, flanked by her lady-in-waiting and two of the palace guards.

She passed by them, sending a small smile in Charles’ direction and a frown in Jugheads. The doors swung open at her appearance and Jughead followed her into the room with a scowl, hastily wiping away at the apple juice that had dribbled onto his chin.

The king rose as she entered, and as he and Charles inquired about how she had rested, Jughead walked over to the other side of the room, separating himself from what he deemed to be the unimportant details of this meeting, but still listening when King Harold began to speak.

“As of yet we have not managed to apprehend your attacker, but we are following up another, ahem, lead, which we are hoping may uproot the entire conspiracy.”

Princess Veronica murmured her understanding and the king straightened slightly, as if he was relieved she had not pressed to be told what the mysterious lead was exactly.

“That being said however, doesn’t mean that we are at all positive as to your safety. We have no idea when or if another attack will be made against you, which is why some form of extra protection must be provided to you. We shall be posting extra guards outside your rooms, not only before your door, but also at the door into the corridor that leads to your rooms.”

“That is a great security, I thank you, Your Majesty.”

King Harold bowed, pleased by her thanks, and continued, “These extra guards will, of course, be useless when you are not in your rooms, which is why I have taken it upon myself to select a member of the Royal Guard to act as a personal bodyguard to you until this unfortunate situation has ended.”

Jughead turned at the king’s words and watched her reaction carefully. Her brow flinched and she blinked, but no words passed the princess’s lips.

“All members of the Royal Guard are, of course, strangers to you, save one, who, after the heroics he has already shown on your behalf, could not be unpleasant to you in any way.”

The king gestured and Jughead stepped forward, amused by the range of emotions that were flooding Princess Veronica’s face. She was displeased by the news, that much was obvious, but whether the red that was steadily flooding her face was caused by embarrassment or anger, Jughead couldn’t tell.

“As much as I trust your judgment, Your Highness,” Veronica gritted out, her eyes fixed resolutely on one of the painted glass windows in the back wall. “Wouldn’t it be more…Wouldn’t it be safer to have a more experienced member of your Royal Guard taking charge of me?”

King Harold did not answer her, instead leaving Charles to leap into the breach.

“You need have no fear on that account, Your Highness. I would trust Ju- Sir Forsythe with my life; even with my sisters and mother’s lives for that matter. You can have nothing to fear under his protection, I assure you.”

“Quite, quite. Charles has said it exactly right. In the current circumstances, Veronica my dear, you can be in no safer, nor more capable, hands then Forsythe’s.”

Her lips opened; hesitated; then closed once more. She had said all she could, any fool could see that direct opposition would lead to nothing more then complete confinement, and if she were the sort of girl Jughead had decided she was, freedom would be an absolute necessity.

“I see that I shall just have to trust you then, Your Majesty. I pray that I shall not live to regret having done so.”

“Indeed, certainly not, quite s-“

“I may return to my own rooms unattended, I suppose.” Veronica interrupted.

The king spluttered slightly, un-used to the rudeness of a spoiled princess, Jughead supposed, and nodded.

“Certainly, I’m sure you are still weary from last nights ordeal and would much rather be resting in your rooms then standing here,” gesturing to the guards to open the doors, allowing the bright light from the hallway to flood the room. “I hope to have more information for your reassurance at our next meeting.”

“If that should be the case, Your Majesty, I shall be eternally grateful. Until then.” sweeping out of the room without a backward glance, the black of her dress drowning the sunshine as it passed.

King Harold shook his head slightly at the princess retreating form, then turned and entered his own private chambers, as the only sign that Jughead and Charles were dismissed.

As soon as the door was thoroughly closed behind him, Jughead turned to Charles with his eyebrows raised.

“And do you find Her Highness as agreeable on your second impression as you did on your first?”

“Perhaps she was not _quite_ as agreeable, but one can easily understand and enter into her feelings. To be placed under the protection of someone who’s every word and action bespeaks judgement and prejudice would not make me feel very secure in my heart. Indeed, if I were in Veronica’s shoes I should wonder whether you would be inclined to protect me a second time should, heaven forbid, such another occasion arise.”

They walked out together, Jughead remaining silent as he ruminated over Charles’ words. The idea that he should ever be thought to hold his own personal grievances above an order from his king; above the common decency that demanded mercy for the weak and innocent…It was a distasteful thought.

Charles, having studied him for a moment or two, threw his arm round Jughead’s shoulders, and said, in a attempt, if not to make his former words disappear entirely, at least make them disappear for the present time, “Well, lets not think about such things now. I’m off to ride with Archie and my sisters before escorting Duke Clifford home, and you best be off to Princess Veronica’s rooms.”

Jughead nodded, slowing to a stop as they reached the head of one of the grand staircases.

“Now Jughead, I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so my advice to you is this. Leap to no awkward judgements, do whatever you can to make things a little less difficult for the poor girl, and for heavens sake, do try not to be an arrogant ass. Since you grew up among us all, you have been allowed to do things exactly as you like and no-one mentions it because we understand your temperament. Veronica, however, has known of you for only a handful of hours, and is, for all intents and purposes, an orphaned, unprotected girl, four years your junior, who deserves, if not your respect, your pity.”

 _Better an orphan then the child of such horrific monstrosities,_ Jughead thought, biting back the retort before it left his mouth. He might not agree with Charles, but he respected him more then he did most people and Jughead had no wish to have their last words be spoken in anger.

“I will bear your words in mind Charles, although I have no idea whether they will manage to effect me in a heated moment. However, to repeat my former self, I shall try.”

“Come, that’s better. Shake my hand Jughead, and we’ll part ways in perfect friendship.”

They shook hands, and the next moment Charles was bounding downstairs, calling out for his horse to be readied. Jughead watched him as he went with a twinge of envy; to be going out riding on such a beautiful morning as this would be an almost in-describable pleasure, but Jughead was not a prince, and such freedom was not his to partake in.

He turned towards the princess’s rooms with a heavy tread and a heavy heart, regretfully leaving the shining sun behind him. Jughead had little doubt that it was preparing to be a long and tiring day.

The guards surrounding Princess Veronica’s rooms, all senior members of the royal guard Jughead didn’t recognize, stared at him as he went past, clearly confused as to why he was there. Jughead was wondering the same to be honest, but he had his orders and nothing was going to keep him from them.

Her heavy oak doors were closed, but as Jughead walked up to them the doorknob began to turn and the door swung inward with a steady creek, revealing the pale face off Ethel Muggs. She started as she saw him, then flushed with embarrassment.

“Jughead; oh! I…You shouldn’t…You’ll be in all sorts a trouble if your superiors find you up here!”

Jughead opened his mouth to explain his presence and reassure her when he was interrupted by the sound of Veronica calling out to Ethel from one of the inner rooms.

“Is there someone there Ethel? Who are you talking to?”

“No…Nobody, Your Highness.”

“Nobody?”

“Well…that is…It ’tis only a member of the guard Your Highness.”

There was a pause, during which Jughead watched, amused, as Ethel shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, her gaze darting from Jughead to the inner room were Veronica must be and back again at rapidly shortening intervals. At last the princess spoke again, the tone of her voice bouncing off the stone walls with an irritated cadence.

“Send him in Ethel. I have some things I should like to say to him.”

Ethel stepped aside, twisting her hands into her apron and looking up nervously at Jughead as he passed over the threshold. He offered her a half-hearted smile as he entered, then turning towards the inner room, he straightened his features into something resembling a grimace, feeling as if he was about to be examined for a test of some sort.

Jughead hesitated in the doorway, feeling suddenly as if he was invading a private sanctuary were he had no right to be. Everything was white and flowing and elegant, giving one the sense of profound peace and security. The windows were flung wide open, the wind from the ocean flowing through them; lifting everything it could with a steady breeze, even the very hair on Jughead’s forehead. And in the middle of it all stood Veronica.

She stood at one of the windows, her back to him, the blackness of her hair and dress contrasting sharply with the white drapes that billowed around her. It was impossible for her to not be aware of his presence, she could not have missed the sound of his step against the wooden floors, but she did not turn. Jughead, too, said nothing, though he was unsure as to why; a question that fell out of his head as Veronica at last turned towards him, the frown on her face breaking the spell of silence that had held his tongue still up to that point.

“So it’s you then.” eyeing him up and down before finally settling her gaze somewhere to the left of his head.

“Yes.”

Another pause hung in the air and then she broke out, bluntly, “I don’t like you.”

“Is that so, Princess?”

“I don’t trust you either.” Veronica said, continuing on as if Jughead hadn’t spoken. “In fact, you are just the sort of person I most dislike, however,” and here she allowed her eyes to once again skate across his features, taking him in, “I am well aware that I have no choice in this matter. The King has made his decision and I am forced to bow to it.”

She turned; Jughead watched as she crossed over to a long padded seat and sank down onto it. Having settled herself comfortably, Veronica looked up and, catching his eye, flushed angrily.

“I have been forced into this, but I do not intend to suffer silently. I have decided upon a set of rules that shall make this situation as little trouble as it needs to be for…for the both of us, for any fool would be able to see that you have no more wish to spend time in my presence then I have in yours.”

Here she paused for breath and Jughead, bursting with indignation, spoke.

“I can hardly believe that it is possible for you to have enough of knowledge of my feelings to have created a set of rules that would be pleasant for both of us, Princess. I would ask you to not make any presumptions on my behalf, if you please.”

“Your impudence is insufferable!” She snapped, eyes sparking with anger. “We are in no way friends, and I refuse to allow you to continue to speak to me as if we were. And as for my ‘presumptions’ that you have taken such a great distaste to,” rising and snatching a sheet of paper from a side table as she marched towards the French doors that led to the balcony, “you will no longer need to be troubled by them.”

Jughead watched as she ripped the paper into a series of long strips and tossed them to be taken by the wind before turning back to him, a satisfied expression flitting over her face. And in all probability there the expression would have stayed, had it no been for the fact that the breeze, flying into the room as Jughead had already noted, decided to take the offerings that Veronica had given it and flung them back into the room.

The strips of paper landed everywhere, from the mantlepiece, to the hem of Veronica’s black gown, even to the tip of Jughead’s boot. Jughead watched, amused as Veronica’s eyes widened in shock. She bent down, snatching a few strips from the floor, her face suddenly tightening and going white with fury. Jughead mimicked her, stooping down to gather the strips that were within his reach, and allowing a himself to chuckle as he did so, the ridiculousness of the situation crashing into his subconsciousness.

“Do seriously find humor in this!?” he heard Veronica gasp as he straightened, still smiling.

“Well I certainly don’t see how you could call this anything less then a complete farce.”

“I…You…Get out! I don’t intend to go anywhere besides my rooms today; I insist on having my privacy unmarred by you and your impertinence! Get out!”

“With all the joy and gladness in my heart, Princess.” said Jughead, bowing mocking towards her before stalking out of the room and flinging the door shut behind him a loud crash, feeling as if he had been holding his breath throughout the entire interview.

The guards stepped towards him as he stepped towards a bench that sat against the wall opposite to Veronica’s door and dropped down onto it, their eyebrows raised. Jughead waved them off impatiently, saying, “Don’t mind me, just fuming for a moment.”

They nodded, exchanging significant glances with each other as they returned to their posts, but Jughead ignored them, instead focusing his attention on the sounds coming from the room he had just left. Voices were audible but vague enough for it to be clear that Veronica wasn’t taking her anger out on Ethel and a few moments later Ethel exited the room, hands filled with paper.

“Is that all of it?” Jughead asked.

Ethel shook her head warningly, pulling the door closed gently behind her before she whispered, “You hush now, I’ll be right back.” before disappearing down the corridor, out of sight, leaving Jughead sitting with his head in his hands.

 _I’ve done it now._ he thought, sighing. All his good intentions, all his promises to Charles; all were ruined thanks to that insufferable girl. She was going to be just as troublesome and irritating as Jughead had thought she was going to be, with her rules and her haughtiness and her anger sparking eyes that seemed to burn further into him with every fresh glance. Something about those eyes, they heated his blood with anger in a way that no other person had ever been able to. Devils eyes, thats what they were, with their black lashes and their-

“Here you are Jughead. They said you hadn’t eaten yet this morning.” said Ethel, interrupting Jughead’s flow of thought and pushing a plate of bread and cheese under his nose.

Jughead took the plate gingerly and Ethel sank down onto the bench next to him with a little sigh; but she she said nothing until his plate was mostly empty, save a few crumbs of bread and a solitary lump of cheese.

“This whole situation would be easier if you were to just leave well enough alone, Jughead.” Ethel chided gently, nudging his arm with her elbow. “The instant that she got back to her rooms she set to writing; she even asked me if I knew whether there was any particular time you were used to having for yourself.”

“What; so she could demand my presence all the more instantly during that time?” Jughead interrupted.

“No, Jughead, of course not. Not but what she might now, seeing as you’ve managed to set her into such a tizzy.”

“You can’t say that you enjoy being under the thumb of such a…public enemy.”

Ethel hesitated, then shook her head slowly, shaking her red curls. “No…well, no. At first I was quiet distressed at the thought but after having met her…I suddenly came to the realization that she’s just a girl like me; a girl who is having to do her best at navigating the currants of her new life.”

Jughead scowled, and Ethel’s words faltered at the sight of it, her voice trailing off into uncertainty. They sat in silence once more, with nothing but the creaking of the guards chainmail disturbing the quiet until the sound of a bell rang out from Princess Veronica’s rooms, signaling for Ethel.

“I best join her,” Ethel said, rising from her seat and looking down at him hesitantly. “Jughead…I now that I most probably spoke out of turn, and that you’ve no reason to listen to anything I say, but I do think that even if you’ll never like her, you might grow to be…surprised by her.”

“No Ethel,” Jughead laughed, shaking his head at her, “no I very much doubt that Princess Veronica shall ever be able to surprise me.”


	3. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s no need for you to come with me,” she forestalled, gesturing towards him with her hand. “As we’ve established, I am perfectly capable of-“
> 
> “It’s not a question of capability, Princess,” swatting at the aforementioned hand. “It’s a question of me doing my job, which has also been established. Where are going anyway?” Jughead asked, falling into step with Veronica as she walked away from him impatiently.
> 
> “That is in fact none of your business, but, just on the off chance that it might make you see that you are in fact not at all needed; I’m going to the stable-yard to see if i can find Ethel.”
> 
> “The stable-yard—No, Princess, you can’t go there.”
> 
> “And why exactly is that?” Veronica asked, stopping abruptly and whirling around to face him. Jughead faltered slightly under Veronica’s gaze, talking a half step backwards before remembering himself and returning to his original position, forcing Veronica to tilt her head back to look up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late then never I guess? I apologize for how long you guys have had to wait for this chapter; life got in the way of writing for a hot minute there!  
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and make sure to let me know what you thought of the new developments!  
> \- bothromeoandjuliet

“Take your hands off my lunch.”

“I’m _testing_ it, Princess. You know, for poison?”

“Testing it is taking a single bite, not swallowing half my meal! If you had anything in-between your two ears maybe you would-“

“Well if you actually had ears you would be able to maybe understand-"

* * *

“Thank you so much Ethel, I have the sketch down now; so you don’t have to hold the pose any longer.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You’ve done it wrong.”

“What?” 

“The sketch; you’ve made Ethel taller and slimmer then she really is. And no-one would ever sit like that in real life, they’d cramp in five minutes!”

“Obviously your eyes aren’t seeing things correctly, that is exactly Ethel’s shape; and as for cramping, if you had even had the opportunity to sit in a chair like that you would know that that is the only way to sit on it-”

“Oh, hang your ‘opportunities,’ if you weren’t so bent on being enamored of your own work, you’d see that you’ve bent a leg where no leg should ever bend without force.”

“You—Oh, never mind; how could I have possibly forgotten that you were the greatest art and human anatomy expert on this side of the ocean. Of course you couldn’t possibly be pointing out flaws purely to enrage me.”

“There, you see? Even you admit that there’s flaws!"

“I swear, if you don’t leave my rooms this instant-“

* * *

“Augh!”

Veronica’s strangled yelp echoed thinly through her pillows, bouncing around inside her skull. Jughead had been her bodyguard for two weeks now, and it hadn’t been going any better then their first few meetings. He was still a disagreeable ass, and Veronica still felt that she would rather pull out every hair on her head, one by one, then attempt to have a civil conversation with him.

A few days earlier Archie had hinted that she and Jughead could grow to appreciate each-others company if they tried. Veronica had scoffed internally at the thought, but spying Betty’s eyes glittering as close to green as blue could be, had instead smiled brightly up to him, brushing her fingertips against the thin linen of his tunic sleeve. Unfortunately that meant Archie thought she was going to try to be the more reasonable person…But what did it really matter what he thought after all? Veronica burrowed deeper into her pillows, then yelled again.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I didn’t know you were here.”

Veronica lifted her head, all too aware of how flushed and disheveled she must appear, and stared at the girl, who had just entered the room, inquiringly.

“Who are you?”

“Melody, Your Highness; one of the housemaids. I’m just up to do the cleanin’, I didn’t realize you were here; I can come back later.”

“No, no,” raising a hand to halt the girls retreat. “I was meaning to be somewhere else so there is really no need for you to be kept from your work. Do you happen to know where Ethel is, by any chance? I’ve been wanting to ask her about my gown for dinner tonight.”

Melody stiffened, her gaze shifting rapidly between the two large windows.

“I can’t be certain, Your Highness.”

Rising to her feet, Veronica pinned the girl with her eyes, taking in the shuffling feet, the nervous twitching of her hands, the consistent tightening of skin around her throat. The girl was lying, that much was obvious.

“Are you certain?”

“I…” Melody’s hesitation hung, dead-like, in the air “That is…She might be by the stable-yard, on the way back from visiting her mother.”

“I see.” Veronica nodded, walking away to the door, trying to ignore the feeling of Melody’s eyes boring into her back.

Jughead stood as she exited, his expression sullen but resigned to follow her wherever she chose to go.

“There’s no need for you to come with me,” she forestalled, gesturing towards him with her hand. “As we’ve established, I am perfectly capable of-“

“It’s not a question of capability, Princess,” swatting at the aforementioned hand. “It’s a question of me doing my job, which has also been established. Where are going anyway?” Jughead asked, falling into step with Veronica as she walked away from him impatiently.

“That is in fact none of your business, but, just on the off chance that it might make you see that you are in fact not at all needed; I’m going to the stable-yard to see if i can find Ethel.”

“The stable-yard—No, Princess, you can’t go there.”

“And why exactly is that?” Veronica asked, stopping abruptly and whirling around to face him. Jughead faltered slightly under Veronica’s gaze, talking a half step backwards before remembering himself and returning to his original position, forcing Veronica to tilt her head back to look up at him.

“The stables are by the guards courters.” he explained as if that was all Veronica needed to know.

“So? I think I can handle myself around a few guards, and if they choose to be impertinent that is their business.” turning away from him and continuing down the staircase.

Veronica had been to the stables before with Archie, so she lead the way, ignoring Jughead’s protestations and complaints, and soon enough they had reached their destination.

“You might help keep an eye out for Ethel.” she said to Jughead, who was now fuming silently behind her.

A few people, all unrecognizable to her, wandered here and there, bent on some business, their own or someone else’s. The ground was muddy from the previous night’s rain, and the smell of horse manure and water soaked hay filled Veronica’s nose with a sickening persistence.

She could hear voices in the distance, some hushed, some elevated, and one that sounded suspiciously like Ethel’s. Veronica walked towards them, straining her neck in her attempt to see over the hay bales whose heights were increasingly rising, and pointedly ignored the fact that she couldn’t hear Jughead’s footsteps behind her anymore.

The bales were fewer and further between, opening up into a clearing, and the voices were clearer, more distinct. She stepped forward and then gasped when a gush of a wet, something, pooled over her feet. Lifting her skirts slightly, Veronica peered down towards her slippers, wrinkling her nose at the thick mud that was now oozing from them.

“Of all the-“ Veronica began, only to be cut off by a hand pushing against her mouth, effectively silencing her.

Veronica shifted her jaw, attempting to bite her attacker’s fingers. The voices rose, loud enough for Veronica to have been able to decipher them had she not been otherwise occupied. Her mouth was released, but before Veronica could summon enough breath to scream she was spun around and found herself face to face with Jughead; a single finger pressed against her lips and his eyes wide.

 _“What is it?”_ Veronica mouthed at him, to caught up in the situation to give him the attitude she normally would.

Jughead shook his head, gesturing towards the clearing, but Veronica, just as in the dark as before, could only wrinkle her forehead at him. Irritated, Jughead rolled his eyes, then bent down to her height, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

“If you care about Ethel, you won’t move a muscle from this spot, do you understand me? Not a single inch.”

He pulled away from her, eyeing her for a reaction. Veronica blinked up at him, her head nodding in stiff jerks. With this reassurance he released her, taking a few steps backwards and looking over the top of the hay towards the clearing before continuing down the path Veronica had been taking; soon disappearing from view. Left thus alone, Veronica strained her ears, desperate to hear more of the mysterious voices.

“—oing to get up?”

“She…She might not be able to Charles…you pushed her pretty—“

“Oh she’s perfectly alright; besides, it’s less then she deserves, the wench.”

“And why would that be?”

Jughead’s voice, clear and loud, like he knew that Veronica was listening.

“This isn’t your business Forsythe; move along back to your bootlicking now.”

“Well if this is your business Charles I don’t want it to be. Still, I think you’ve had enough of your fun for today, don’t you?”

“This isn’t fun, it’s punishment. Punishment for her weakness, punishment for her standing by the daughter of a murder!”

“This girl isn’t standing with anyone, she’s simply following her king’s commands, as is her duty. Now, if you excuse me, this girl has been requested by a member of the family.”

There was sounds of grumbling and a few muffled sobs and Veronica kept her eyes on the clearing, unsure whether she wanted to see Jughead and Ethel round the corner or not. _Murderer._ Was that what they were calling her father?

Footsteps could be heard and Ethel and Jughead appeared, heads down, Jughead’s arm around Ethel’s shoulders. Veronica took a few hasty steps forward, then stopped short.

_“After all, what right do I have to comfort her?”_

Ethel looked up and, catching sight of her, moved hastily out from under Jughead’s arm, lifting her hands to brush away any signs of tears. The sight shook Veronica, and before she knew what she was doing, she had rushed forward, pushing past the other two, heading in a straight line towards the clearing. Jughead caught up to her in a few easy steps, his fingers gripping uncomfortably tight against her upper arms, effectively pinning her in place for the second time that day.

“Let me go! Let me—Release me this instant; I refuse to let them get away with this! They can’t, they won’t!”

“Princess-“ Jughead insisted, grunting as Veronica threw her weight against him. “Princess, stop.”

“Your Highness, please!” Ethel begged, her voice tear choked. “Please, Your Highness, it is’t worth it, please…”

Chest heaving, Veronica paused her struggling, eyes taking in Ethel appearance. Her skirt and face bore traces of mud, and her red ringlets hung limp around her face, framing red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips.

“They hurt you.” Veronica states, because it wasn’t the time for tenderhearted questions.

“They’ll hurt you too. They don’t care, Your Highness, you’ll only be ‘armed if you go after them now. Please, just bring me back to the castle, please.”

They were a gloomy looking party as they entered Veronica’s rooms. Jughead’s face had stiffened into a mask of professionalism, Ethel had gone paper white, and Veronica, squelching along the floor in her mud clogged slippers, could barely control the angry shaking in her hands.

“Jughead would you go fetch Ethel some water please?” and then, turning towards Ethel as Jughead left the room, “Ethel, you had better sit down.”

“But, Your Highness, I’ve got to clean myself. I can’t be see going about looking like this!”

“I’m not asking you to, I’m only asking for you to sit down and rest for a moment. We can’t have you fainting away now, can we?”

“No.” Ethel murmured, complying as she did so. Veronica flashed a smile towards her, then walked over to the wash basin, her face stiffening as she dipped her handkerchief into the water.

 _“Does the king know that such things happen among his own servants?”_ Veronica thought to herself before quickly shaking the idea away. The king might be lapse in his judgment of the human temperament, but that didn’t mean that he would turn a blind eye to cruelty.

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

“Why of course I am.” Veronica said, pulling her smile back onto her face and wringing out her handkerchief before returning to Ethel, taking the girl’s face into her hands and pressing the scrap up fabric gently against Ethel’s pale skin.

Veronica was relieved to see that there was no blood mixed in with the dirt. At least Ethel had escaped harm in that respect.

“Ethel,’’ Veronica began, hesitation choking her words, “have you ever considered—that is, I could…I could speak to the king about this. I am sure that if I were to tell him what has been happening he would be outraged, and those men would be gone by nightfall-“

“I would beg you not to, Your Highness, please.” Ethel cried, reaching up to grab at Veronica’s hands.

“But why ever not, Ethel?”

“Because…” Ethel sighed, releasing Veronica’s hand and opening her eyes, which up till now had been closed. “You called them men, Your Highness, but they are not. They are merely boys, who, having been too young to fight in the war, are refusing to see the bigger picture. They will learn, in time, that not all is what it appears to be, that people may be surrounded with darkness and yet not be dark themselves. But if they are sent away now, ripped away from their only chance of growth, won’t they see themselves as justified?”

Veronica pressed her lips into a thin line and chose to kneel down in front of Ethel’s skirt rather then to reply.

The girl was right of course, more right then she probably knew. Men, _boys_ , who were sent away in such circumstances saw themselves as martyrs. And martyrs, unless they had a healthy dose of fear towards their king and queen, had a nasty habit of creating rebellions. Royal bloodlines had been destroyed by martyrs.

“I hope that I ‘aven’t been too bold, Your Highness?” Ethel asked, peering down at Veronica anxiously.

Veronica shook her head, and responded, “No, no you are quite right. But Ethel, I am telling you now, that if I am to see something like this occur again, I will be intervening personally. I will respect your wishes so far as the king goes, but you cannot stop me from protecting you a second time. It is my presence that has brought you this trouble, and I will, if possible, be the means of you escaping it.”

Ethel opened her mouth to protest, but, at the sound of the door opening, Veronica rose hastily to her feet and whispered, “Not a word.” cutting off any argument completely.

* * *

The days passed; Veronica and Jughead’s tempers rose and fell; and if Veronica noticed Ethel acting more timidly with each passing hour, she didn’t say anything. She was waiting, waiting for the perfect moment to catch her prey in the act, and about a week after the incident by the stables, while standing and watching the courtyard from an upper window, the moment came.

Veronica had spotted Ethel’s red hair the instant it had appeared and she had been greeted with the sight of three men surrounding the poor girl soon after. The time had come then, but first things had to come first.

“Excuse me,” Veronica asked the guard who stood, statue like, on the opposite side of the hallway. “Do you have any idea how long the royal briefing is supposed to take?”

“I’ve no way to be certain Your Highness, it could be minutes or hours from now. Why do you ask?”

“Oh,” Veronica sighed, eyeing him through her lashes and smiling sweetly up at him. “Its just…My guard was called away to the meeting and asked me to remain inside the castle, but it is hard to be locked up on such a beautiful day as this, and I’ve just spotted some friends of mine in the courtyard…But it would be very wrong of me to break my promise, even if I could return here before he came to find me. Ah well, it is the price I must pay for my safety I suppose.”

The man grunted and walked over to the window, looking down into the courtyard. Veronica scanned him as he did so; he was an old man, wrinkled and weathered, with eyes that told tales of many tears shed, many friends lost during the course of his life.

“Where’d you say that these friends of yours were, Your Highness?” He asked, startling Veronica from her revery, forcing her to re-adopt her look of youthful innocence as she leaned closer to the window.

“Just there,” pointing towards a group of girls who were standing together near the base of one of the battlements, arms filled with ribbons and other assorted fabrics. “But why do you wish to know?”

“Here’s what we are going to do, Your Highness. You’re going to go down to your friends, and have a good time, and if you aren’t here before that guard of yours is, I’ll send him on a bit of an ole’ wild goose chase so as to give you the chance to return quiet like, you see?”

“Would you…Oh! Would you really do that for me?” Veronica asked breathlessly.

“Well I don’t see as there’s much ‘arm in you having a bit of enjoyment in the courtyard—” the man began to murmur, only to be cut off by Veronica throwing her arms around his neck and kissing the wizened cheek.

“Thank you! Thank you, so much, Sir…?”

“Sir Tate, Your Highness, but you needn’t thank me. Just the sight of your excitement is enough thanks for my old heart. You better hurry along now.”

“You are quite right, and thank you again Sir Tate.” Veronica called out, already speed-walking down the hallway. She never ran in front of strangers, her parents had always made sure of that.

Veronica slowed as she entered the courtyard, looking about her, attempting to catch sight of Ethel. It didn’t take long to find her, and with one final furtive glance in the direction of the doors she had just come from, Veronica steadied herself with a deep breath and stepped forward.

“—ut what is your excuse?” the tall man in the middle asked as Veronica came up behind Ethel and realized with shock, that what Ethel had said was true. He; all three of them; were boys, scarcely older then Veronica herself.

“I…I have my orders…” Ethel whispered, jumping as Veronica laid a hand upon her arm.

“There is no need for you to respond to their questioning Ethel. As you say, you have your orders, and they have nothing to do with these boys.”

The two other boys started as Veronica announced her presence, but the third boy, the one who had been speaking when she first arrived, and was presumably the “Charles” Jughead had addressed before, only looked her up and down, a smile growing on his face as he did so.

“And so at last, Her Royal Highness makes an appearance. What have we commoners done to deserved such an honor?” bowing to her mockingly and then saying, “Go back to your tower Highness, this doesn’t concern you.”

“Actually,” pulling a now mute Ethel behind her and stepping forward brazenly. “I believe that this has everything to do with me. Ethel is under my protection, and as such, anything you wish to say to her must go through me.”

“Oh toss it, Highness. You’re not in your father’s kingdom anymore. You have no power here, no protective father, no warriors for you to command to do your bidding. You’re on our turf now, and here, we don’t let little girls like you tell us what to do, so if we want to talk to Little Miss. Traitor, we’re going to talk to her.”

He stepped closer with every word, looming over her, and with each step Veronica felt much smaller, and very, very powerless. He smiled at her again and she felt her blood running cold. It was a shame that such a beautiful smile had been wasted on him.

 _‘You have the power to make him fear you Mija. Use it!’_ urged her father’s voice in her ear. The words strengthened her resolve and, tightening her hands into her fists, Veronica came to her decision.

“You’re right, I don’t have control of the power here.” Charles smirked and began to straighten, halting as she continued, “But do you know what I do have? I have the royal family’s ear; the _King’s_ ear. And do you really thing that he would take the word of three lowly guards over mine?”

The two boys looked uneasily at each other, but Charles remained unfazed.

“Like I said, you’re not at home anymore. You may have the King’s ear, but you don’t have your father’s trained killers waiting for your orders if he doesn’t do what you want him too.”

_‘Use it Mija!’_

“I see that you’ve heard the stories about me. The stories about how, if court jesters failed to amuse me, or if my ladies-in-waiting failed to dress my hair exactly as I wished them too, that their throats would be cut before me. Or perhaps you’ve heard of how one of my suitors was poisoned because I believed that he had been unfaithful to me.”

She paused, allowing the dramatic tension to rise and Charles responded, his expression clouded with confusion, “The stories are exactly as you say, down to the last detail.”

“Well then, if I have been as exact as you say I suppose there is nothing else to add, _Chuck_.” turning half away and delighting in the look of surprise that had taken hold of his face when she’d said his name.

“Oh, except there is one thing that I’ll leave with you to consider.” Turning to face him once again and tipping her head back defiantly. “And that is, all those stories, with all their horrors, never said that I made someone _else_ do my dirty-work. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we must go and leave you to your new revelations.”

And so with a final withering glare and swish of her skirts, Veronica turned away, pulling Ethel along with her, leaving Charles and his friends behind them, open-mouthed.

“Oh, Your Highness! That was just magnificent, truly! I don’t know how I shall ever repay you!” Ethel gushed as they exited the courtyard.

“Thank you Ethel, but the only payment I require is your silence. You can give me no better reward then that.”

“Oh, of course Your Highness; but it was really so inspiring…”

And so Ethel’s voice droned on and on, and Veronica began to feel the pounding of fear in her blood. She had shown her hand, but it was a hand filled with lies, and if those lies were discovered—even if they weren’t—would her safety continue to be guaranteed? Veronica wasn’t certain.

* * *

The moon sat high in the night sky, it’s light reflecting against the curving waves; the same waves that kept running over Veronica’s slipper-less feet, soaking into the fabric of her nightdress and dressing gown.

As of that moment Veronica had not yet been confronted with her actions from that afternoon. She had gotten back to her rooms before Jughead had been released from his briefing, at least she thought she had; he hadn’t been there when she and Ethel had returned and when he did arrive, he hadn’t appeared to be at suspicious about the girl’s afternoon activities. Then had come dinner, with everyone hardly speaking, and least of all speaking to her and then an after-dinner chat with Archie. Poor, clueless Archie, who wouldn’t have been able to tell if something was wrong with a woman unless it was actually thrust into his face, complete with tears and yelling.

A shout echoed in the distance, and Veronica pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her in an attempt to block out the bone chilling breeze. She was shaking, she knew she was shaking, but whether she was shaking from the cold or from the sense of dread that had been hanging over her since that afternoon’s theatrics, Veronica wasn’t certain.

Another step forward into the water, soaking her nightdress up further, passed her knees. The moon looked so enchanting in it’s reflection, like Veronica could almost stretch out her hand and take it in her palm.

 _“It would be so easy.”_ Veronica thought, taking another, hesitant, step. _“All I would need to do is to just keep taking steps forward until I was just drifting. That’s all it would take to see them again.”_

“I wouldn’t go out much further then that, Princess.”

Veronica stiffened at the sound of Jughead voice, but kept her eyes trained on the moon as she responded.

“You were off duty hours ago. Do really have nothing better to do then follow me about?”

“If you’re out of your rooms I’m on duty, Princess, but me being here tonight has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“What? Do you think you’re only one who can feel inclined to take a walk?”

His tone was indignant and turning slightly, Veronica felt certain that she saw the ghost of a smirk disappearing from his face.

“Oh course I don’t think that Jughead, I’m not a simpleton you know. I was just curious as to why.”

“I have my reasons, just like you do I imagine. But your reasons seem to be leading you to a far more watery destination then mine, Princess.”

“They do, don’t they?” Veronica murmured, then sighed and turned completely to face Jughead head on.

“I’m going to admit something to you Jughead, because despite how much you dislike me, I know that you won’t tell a single soul about what I’m about to say.”

Jughead’s brow contracted for a moment, but he made no attempt to speak, and in his silence Veronica found the courage to continue.

“I snuck out to the courtyard this afternoon to confront Ethel’s tormenters. I stood up to them, and I told them…I told them that all the stories they had heard about me were true an possibly worse. I lied,” Veronica whispered, feeling the panic rise in her chest once again. “I made it seem that I had killed people, that I truly was a murderess, who took life as it pleased her. Even though I never have. And now it could spread all over the castle, all over the kingdom! All the men who were little enough inclined to protect me when all I was, was a girl, how little will they care for my life when news of this goes abroad?”

“But you protected Ethel.” Jughead reminded her, in a voice that, if Veronica had been paying closer attention, would have sounded slightly more gentle then his usual one.

“But for how long? Yes they fear me now, but in a few days or weeks they will have overcome that and then both Ethel’s safety and my life will be worth nothing! All I have done is angered them and given them cause to be more inclined to find ways to—“ Veronica paused, a sudden realization flooding over her.

“But it isn’t just Ethel who they have been tormenting, is it? That day at the stables, you knew what we were going to discover because…they’ve been coming after you as well…”

He flushed at her words, his jaw stiffening and his back straightening. Evidently Veronica had touched upon a sore spot.

“I perfectly capable of protecting myself, Princess.”

“I know that,” Veronica acknowledged, her head drooping miserably “but you shouldn’t have to. This is your home and because of my presence, you and Ethel, and anyone else who is around me are forced to be ostracized by those who should be your friends. My being is a source of pain and trouble to everyone, including myself. If I were to follow my parents to an early grave…”

She trailed off, staring up at Jughead who blinked silently back at her for a moment, then said, “You won’t be following your parents anywhere, Princess. No harm will come to you while you are under my—under King Harold’s protection, I promise you. Your safety, is perhaps, the one thing that I can promise you will never be in doubt. Now come back to your rooms with me,” extending a hand towards her. “It won’t be good if you are discovered to be missing.”

Veronica refused to take his hand, but she did step forward out of the water, lifting the hem of her clothes high enough to escape dragging against the sand. There wasn’t any need to make Ethel, or whomever it was that was tasked with cleaning her things, struggle to remove the sand after all.

They re-entered the castle silently, and only passed the handful of guards that had been outside Veronica’s rooms when she had left. The silence was odd to Veronica, it seemed to her that it would have been much more in character for them to have been arguing every step of the way, but neither of them seemed to have the heart to argue, not tonight.

She had admitted too many things, had been too vulnerable, for her to make any attempt to act superior now. Perhaps in the morning things would be back to how they had been, but a small voice in the back of Veronica’s mind told her not to count on it.


	4. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as taverns went, The Rebel Viper was on the seedier side, what with it’s nameless customers and stony-faced inn-keeper.  
> Forsythe entered unnoticed, having exchanged his black leather uniform for a worn tunic and breeches, and faded into the shadows of a back corner watching the players at work. Most were quiet, drinking their ale and making small talk, but one table was particularly rowdy—filled with what was obviously a hunting party of young men. They were all laughing and singing drinking songs, and there was one rather swarthy gentleman who had clearly taken a liking to the barmaid, and had put her on his knee and was giving her sips of his ale between songs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And I have a brand new chapter for you all to enjoy! I appreciate your guys patience with me through my slow uploads, and I want to thank everyone who has commented; you have no idea how much a single comment encourages me to get to work! 
> 
> (Which I guess means that you should all head over to my 20's AU after reading this chapter so I'll get started on the next chapter for that lol)
> 
> In other news, WE HAVE A THEME SONG! Listen to it here: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/XBSqQPP4aVM
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know if you enjoyed! <3<3<3<3

Porridge, Forsythe decided, was an extremely overrated breakfast.

He was eating his breakfast in the guard’s dining hall. Nobody else had appeared from their sleeping chambers, meaning that Forsythe was getting his five minutes of uninterrupted peace for the day.

Soft clinking’s echoed from the kitchens, along with muffled voices. His spoon scraped gently along the side of his bowl and then came to a complete stop at the appearance of Charles and his two tag-alongs.

They shuffled in silently, and Charles shot a burning glare in Forsythe’s direction as the three of them sat down. Muttering quietly to each other, they ate their porridge and Forsythe ignored them as best he could. But the habits of the naturally inquisitive can be difficult to quell, and before long he had tuned into their conversation.

“But if what she said was true—wouldn’t it be best to remain calm?”

“I agree—Charles, this girl isn’t worth loosing our positions over, is she?”

Charles glared at both the boys, scratching the handle of his spoon into the tabletop.

“I refuse to be put down by that filthy little upstart! She _will_ learn her place—even if I have to teach her it myself!”

Forsythe tightened his jaw, he knew what ‘teaching’ would entail. Those foolish lies that Veronica had told would be spread through the castle—alienating her from everyone and everything—maybe even ending with her being sent off to some outlying property of King Harold’s.

 _That’s not going to happen,_ Forsythe assured himself.

He stood silently, walking to Charles’s table. All three jumped as they noticed him, and for a fleeting moment Forsythe allowed himself to enjoy the flash of panic that had briefly covered their faces.

“Go.” Forsythe commanded to the two boys, jerking his head towards the door. They glanced nervously between himself and Charles, and evidently thought that they could handle Charles’s wrath better, for they scampered to the door with the rapidity of scared children.

Charles scoffed at their backs before turning back to his bowl, shaking his head in disgust.

“I’m not talking to you, _Forsythe_. You and I have nothing to speak about.”

“Oh, I agree,” Forsythe said, reaching over and pulling Charles from his seat by his collar, “but I wasn’t really interested in having a civil conversation.”

Charles scrambled to get away, halting with a wince of pain after Forsythe sent a fist directly into his nose. Using this pause to his advantage, Forsythe dragged Charles over to the nearest wall—forcing him against it and pressing the razor-sharp edge of his dagger against to Charles’ throat.

“What…what the bloody hell are you doing Forsythe!” Charles gasped, swallowing nervously, the pale metal contrasting against his skin.

“What I’m doing now isn’t what you should be worried about—it’s what I am going to do to you if I find out that you’ve breathed a single word of what happened yesterday to _anyone_.”

“Protecting your precious princess? That’s rich coming from you. You can barely stand her, the filthy little—“

“Call her filthy—One. More. Time.” Forsythe threatened, pressing the dagger closer.

“What are you going to do to me if I do?” Charles taunted “Kill me?”

“Not at first. No, first I think that I would have you deposed, so you could see your father’s disappointment in you—and then, after you had no-one left to shun you, then I would kill you. And trust me, there would be no guilt on my conscious after I did so.”

Charles’ eyes widened at his words—at the cold tone of Forsythe’s voice. They stood, silent, breathing hard. The knife glinted in the early morning sunlight and Charles looked as if he could read death in Forsythe’s steely eyes.

“Forsythe! Charles! What is the meaning of this!” cried the angry voice of their currant commanding officer, Sir Micheal.

“Not a word.” Forsythe muttered, releasing Charles with a jerk and turning to face Sir Micheal, stony faced.

“Nothing, Sir. I was merely demonstrating the proper way to preform a pinning technique.”

“Charles?”

“We were only training, Sir. Forsythe has been highly…instructive.”

Sir Micheal narrowed his eyes at them, clenching and unclenching his jaw. At last he sighed and said, “Well the dining hall is no place for training, gentlemen, a fact that I’m sure you will remember in the future. Forsythe, I need you to come with me to my office, I have an assignment for you.”

Forsythe nodded stiffly, following Sir Micheal out of the room without giving Charles a second glance. He’d learned his lesson, for now at least, and Forsythe had no wish to waste any more energy on him.

“Sit down, Forsythe.” Sir Micheal directed, closing the door behind them before continuing.

“What I just saw…Is it going to be necessary for me to step in?”

“No, Sir.”

“Jughead,” Sir Micheal sighed, sitting down and running a hand over his face, “That sort of thing cannot happen. These men are those whom you are supposed to trust with your life!”

“No offense, Sir—“

“A statement that is always offensive, but continue.”

“The only person I trust with my life with is myself. Nobody cares for my safety more then I do.”

“Well, setting that cynical state of mind aside for the moment, I actually did find you for a reason. Is there any way you can be exempted from guard duty today?”

“Possibly. Princess Veronica is going on a riding excursion with Lord Archibald and the rest of the royal family. Why do ask?”

“Because,” Sir Micheal sighed “as of now we have no lead on the princess’s attacker, and you are the only one I know who has reliable ears around the kingdom.”

“My sources won’t take kindly to royal guards asking questions. They tend to be rather skittish.” Forsythe interrupted.

“I know the type. Obviously, you must question them on your own as to not give rise to rumors, and any gold you should require will be given, of course. You will be discreet?”

“Do you doubt my discretion?” Forsythe joked, rising to his feet “I don’t believe any gold shall be needed in this particular case, so you need not raid the King’s coffers.”

* * *

“Of course I don’t need you with me, why would I? I shall be just as safe with Archie as I would be with you.” Princess Veronica scoffed, tugging viciously at the ribbons on her shoe in an effort to tighten them.

“I know that, Princess, I was merely asking to be polite.” Forsythe growled, gripping at the hilt of his sword.

“Well next time, don’t. Where are you planning to go anyway?” she asked, rising to her feet “Is it a family emergency or have you had bad news?”

“What—I—No, of course not.”

“Well what is it then?”

Forsythe shook his head and turned away, saying over his shoulder as he did so, “Let’s just settle it that I won’t try to be polite, and you won’t ask questions, all right Princess?”

* * *

As far as taverns went, The Rebel Viper was on the seedier side, what with it’s nameless customers and stony-faced inn-keeper.  
Forsythe entered unnoticed, having exchanged his black leather uniform for a worn tunic and breeches, and faded into the shadows of a back corner watching the players at work.

Most were quiet, drinking their ale and making small talk, but one table was particularly rowdy—filled with what was obviously a hunting party of young men. They were all laughing and singing drinking songs, and there was one rather swarthy gentleman who had clearly taken a liking to the barmaid, and had put her on his knee and was giving her sips of his ale between songs.

“And what can I do for you, sire?” asked a pouty blonde, slinking up to him from seemingly nowhere.

Forsythe smirked, watching as the girl on the swarthy man’s knee jerked her head towards them and—after catching sight of him—rose to her feet and walked quickly towards them.

“Alright, Penny. I’ll be taking care of this chap, so you go and make noise somewhere else.”

The girl—Penny—scowled, and disappeared back into obscurity with a toss of her golden head, leaving Forsythe and the girl to themselves.

“What are you doing here, Jones?”

Grimacing at the name, Forsythe shot back, “Why, Toni, you sound upset. I had hoped that you would pleased to see me.”

“That depends, are you here in your official capacity?"

“Not in any way that could harm you. I’m looking for some information and I thought that you would be the best place to get it.”

Toni shot him an incredulous look.

“You mean that I’m the one who can get information from _him_. Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Jones. I know you too well for that.”

“Don’t call me Jones, that isn’t me and you know it.”

“Then don’t call me Toni. This is a better gig then I had before—I go by Antoinette now—and I’m sort of in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind.”

“Your recruitment you mean?”

Toni—Antoinette—glanced sharply at the table she had just left and frowned.

“If I tell you what I know will you please not try to ruin this for us?” gesturing towards the swarthy man “We’ve been working on this case for months and I would rather not have it be ruined because of one wrong word from you.”

“Fine.”

Antoinette gave him an appreciative glance, then led the way to a back room, closing the door behind them.

“Alright then, _Forsythe._ What do you want to know?”

“I need to know if you’ve been hearing any rumblings of a…traitorous nature. Specifically any directed towards the castle’s newest addition.”

Antoinette narrowed her eyes reflectively, nibbling at her lower lip as she answered.

“Not that I can think of—not unless you’re talking about…” she trailed off as realization flooded her face and turned towards Forsythe with a startled look.

“Tell me this isn’t about what I think it’s about!”

“What are—Where are you bringing me?!” he cried, breaking off his original sentence as Antoinette dragged him by his arm to out of the room; through a back door and into the woods.

“It isn’t safe to talk here—and if you’re asking about what I think you are, you have to get your information directly from him.”

Tearing his arm from her grip, Forsythe shook his head violently.

“No, I refuse to go to him for help!”

“I know, but Forsythe…This time—you may not have a choice.”

* * *

The Serpent’s camp had grown larger since Forsythe’s last visit. Small, fabric tents sat grouped together and dirty children ran about, laughing and hitting one another with small branches. Some looked at Forsythe with curiosity, and others overlooked him entirely, but most just gave him a small nod of recognition and then hurriedly turned away.

“Is he here?” Antoinette asked a man who was standing outside on of the smaller tents.

“For some. You, perhaps, but I’m not certain about him.” jutting his head in Forsythe’s direction.

“You can shove off with your superiority, Tall-Boy.” Antoinette spat, moving past him to the tent’s opening “If anyone has the right to see him whenever they like, it’s Forsythe.”

Forsythe followed her into the sun dappled tent, which contained only a pile of bedding in the corner and small table and set of chairs. The table was covered with sheets of paper—all of which seemed to be covered in different maps and locations. He averted his eyes from it instantly, he might not be there in his official capacity but all that could change should he see something incriminating.

“Topaz!” cried the man who was sitting at the table, his back to them “Thank the heavens—tell me that you have good news for me!”

“I will tell you our progress—but first, you have a visiter.”

“Can’t it wait?” reaching across the table for a bottle of spirits.

“I’m afraid this conversation cannot be put off.” Forsythe growled, stepping deeper into the tent.

The man stilled at the sound of Forsythe’s voice, then rose to his feet to face him, fingers fiddling nervously with the wooden snake carving that hung around his neck.

“Been a long time since we’ve seen you round these parts, boy.”

“Believe me, I won’t be here if I didn’t have to be. I am in need of some…information, and it seems like the only one whose willing to give it to me is you.”

The man chucked, jerking his head at Antoinette. “You can leave us Topaz—this won’t be taking long—but stay close; I’ll want to speak to you when I’ve finished.”

Both men watched as Antoinette exited the tent, and Forsythe rolled his eyes at the offer of a chair. He didn’t want this meeting to go on any longer then it had to either after all.

“I need you to tell me if you’ve heard any rumors about a assassination plot against the princess who was recently brought to stay at the castle.”

“The princess—whatcha’ call her—Princess Verity?”

Forsythe bit his lip, he could have corrected the man, but he didn’t want to bring the princess under any more scrutiny then he had too.

“What is this princess to you anyhow?” the man continued, fingers once again fidgeting with the snake carving.

“To me personally? Nothing. But the King has requested for me too gather information.”

“You and your king.” the man muttered, kicking the second chair in Forsythe’s direction “Sit down boy; I’ll not speak to you with my chin to the roof.”

Forsythe sighed, gripping onto the hilt of his sword as he lowered himself into the low chair.

“Do you have information for me, or not? Because if you haven’t, I shall have to go elsewhere, and the sun is getting low as it is.”

He allowed a slight tone of unease and impatience to leak into his voice as he spoke and was pleased to see it’s immediate effect. The eye’s across from him lost their sleepy appearance, and the man straightened in his chair, speaking hurriedly as he did so.

“Now there’s no need for that boy, no need to be rash. Just ask your questions and we’ll see if I have the answers you’re lookin’ for.”

“I have asked my question already. I want to know whether or not you have heard of some form of an assassination plot against the princess.”

“I may ‘ave, and I may not. I’m a busy man you know,” jerking his head towards the tents opening, through with the sounds of the camp could be heard “an’ getting busier all the time. It’s the fear of winter you see, that’s what’s been praying on my mind as of late—the fear of winter and the cold. People aren’t like the forest creatures—can’t hide away ‘till it’s springtime again.”

They stared at one another—letting the last echos of the words find death in the silence that followed them. The man’s eyes gleamed wickedly and with a grit of his teeth, Forsythe reached for the leather pouch that was resting against his hip; un-attaching it and flinging it onto the table between them.

“If that doesn’t get you through winter nothing will. Now; tell me what you know.”

The man snatched up the bag, prying it open with his long fingers, and pouring it’s contents onto the table. The gold glittered in the light; reflecting against the sunlight—the sound of metal against wood ringing in Forsythe’s ears. The man caught up a single coin and bit down around it—the gold sinking slightly in reaction to his teeth.

“This the king’s gold then?” pointing the now dented piece of gold in Forsythe’s direction.

White hot rage burned under Forsythe’s skin, and his hands curled into tight fists, but he said nothing; instead choosing to take a deep breath—in and out—out and in.

“I would not—“ a pause, and Forsythe drew another deep breath.

“I think far too highly; and have too great a respect for my king for me to ever use his gold as a bargaining chip against my own father.”

The words—and the tone used to say them—were emotionless. Forsythe was merely stating a fact. The gold was not the from the castle coffers, instead he had gathered a portion of his pay before he had gone to the Rebel Viper. Perhaps he had had a feeling that it would come to this; in the end.

Forsythe the elder looked shaken for a moment, but the next second he had recovered himself—smirking as he gathered the gold back into the pouch.

“Well, tins’t it right that a son should support his father?”

 _Wouldn’t that require you to be a father?_ Forsythe thought to himself, locking his jaw shut before the words could pass his lips. He still needed the information after all.

“Do you have anything to tell me or not?”

His father looked at him, tipping his head to the side as if to study his face; then snorted.

“This princess of your’s must be a pretty wench. You’ve got all red about the ears.”

Forsythe rolled his eyes, ignoring the suggestion and biting at the inside of his cheek to quell the flush that he was beginning to feel spread across his face.

“I won’t ask again.”

“Alright, alright.” his father submitted, lifting a hand to calm him “Nothing like livin’ among the royals to make a man lose his sense of humor. As it just so ‘appens; I have heard a thing or too about the wench. There’s a man—"

“What man?” Forsythe interrupted, leaning forward eagerly.

“Never mind who, boy. I just say as there is a man in the employ of a certain duke, who _may_ ‘ave heard a thing or two that the duke would rather he didn’t.”

“How do you know that this ‘man’ is trustworthy?”

“Ahhh,” lifting the snake carving from where it hung against his chest and displaying it to Forsythe “it’s the loyalty of the code. Once a serpent, always a serpent.”

Forsythe watched as his father released the carving; and resisted the urge to sigh again.

“Can’t you divulge anymore information then that? What manner of things did your man actually hear?”

“Well what do you think he ‘eard?” his father growled “You came in here asking about an assignation plot—you don’t think he ‘eard about the new plot for the flower garden do you? Though mind you—“ he added reflectively, stretching out his hand for the bottle of spirits “it would be no bad thing if that princess of your’s were to be done away with. Some people are worried about war from the Spellmen Kingdom—on account of her being safe—or from the Mantle Kingdom at that. I even know of some men in this ‘ere camp who would rather see her six feet under then cow-towing with the royal family.”

Forsythe stood abruptly, pushing the wooden chair back roughly as he did so.

“Those are traitorous words; and if I where here in my official capacity I would have to bring charges against you for them.”

“Is that a threat, boy?” his father asked, his gaze darkening.

“Not a threat, no. Just the facts; the king has accepted Princess—the princess—into the royal family and any word spoken against her safety is deemed dangerous and traitorous to the whole kingdom.”

Forsythe stepped away from the table, and his father followed with a loud grunt.

“Now there be no need for you to not speak plain—no matter that you’ve been educated by the upper classes. I see what you’re sayin’, and I know that you worry ‘bout your old man even if you don’t say it. Why not put past grievances behind us, eh?” dropping a hand onto Forsythe’s shoulder “Why not continue in my legacy and join you’re serpent kin?”

Forsythe winced away from the familiar gesture and turned to his father, eyes blazing with anger.

“I told you the first and second and third time you asked that of me—I am loyal to no man but my king; and I will not be your spy within the castle—stealing information and gold and whatever else you would deem necessary. I make no you claim on you as an heir, and therefore have no responsibility to carry on any legacy of yours!”

“Aye, I see how it is!” his father interrupted, swaying drunkenly on his feet but still mostly in possession of himself “You make no claim on me—believe that I; your own father—and the rest of your serpent kin; are not good enough to clean the mud off your boots. You’ll have nothin’ to do with me if you can help it. I do believe that if you were to see a fellow serpent starvin’ in the streets you would cross to the other side of the path and pay him no mind; and your own flesh and blood!”

“This gang of rabble that you’ve managed to collect is _not_ my family. I owe them, and you, nothing.”

“Aye, aye—well I won’t be father if you won’t be son*. You can go elsewhere for your information from now on—for you’ll never get it so cheaply again from me—and I’ll swear that on the head of your precious king!”

Forsythe jerked forward, gathering the fabric of his father’s tunic and pulling it tight around his throat before shoving him backwards against the tent’s support pole. He could feel his strength as it rolled down his arm and into his fingers. His grip on the tunic’s collar tightened—constricting his father’s breath, digging into his pale skin.

Forsythe’s father was a strong man, but the days of him being able to best Forsythe in a fight had long since passed. His eyes bulged, his dirty fingernails scratched weakly at the linen of Forsythe’s shirt, and Forsythe could smell the heavy scent of spirts on his breath as it came up hot against his own face.

 _Just a few more moments,_ he thought to himself—to blinded by his anger to consider how he would manage leaving the camp after killing their leader. But then came another voice; young and sweet, whispering into his ear as if the speaker were really there with him,

_“Don’t Forsythe, please. He isn’t worth it, really.”_

He gasped, and jerked away—releasing his father—as if he had been bitten. His father staggered over to the table, too weak to retaliate, and reached for the bottle once again, eyeing him warily.

“Don’t worry.” Forsythe said “You have nothing to fear from me. I shall leave you to your thievery and your drink and your memories of what you had and lost.”

And with that he flung open the tent’s opening, bursting out into the last gleams of the sun as it filtered itself through the thickly growing trees. Forsythe took a deep breath—blinking back the dampness that kept invading his vision; and began his journey back to the castle without looking back.

* * *

“And your informant couldn’t give you anything else?” Sir Micheal asked, looking worriedly at Forsythe over his tangled fingers.

Shaking himself to attention, Forsythe nodded glumly. He was drained after his long day—he hadn’t gotten the chance to eat that afternoon, and he knew that he had to go to the Princess’ rooms to report that he was back before he would be able to have his dinner either—but he also knew that the matter at hand deserved his full attention; no matter how tired he was.

“I would say that it was more that they _wouldn’t_ give anything else, Sir. Although, you and I both know that there is only one duke who has a tendency to hire out labor to tramps.”

“True…and Duke Clifford has never been the most—“ Sir Micheal halted, glancing towards the door before shaking his head “But I had better not say that. Wouldn’t so any good to speculate and have it turn out to be somebody else entirely—besides, you have other duties to attend to other then training rumors with me.”

Forsythe, understanding that he was being dismissed, rose to his feet and exited the room; closing the door softly behind him. The halls were strangely empty, as the majority of the servants where sitting down to dinner—the royal family having finished their meal, and thus having set their lessers free to do as they pleased until tea and bed time.

Forsythe peered yearningly into the dining hall as he walked past—taking in the various groups of people and their steaming plates of food—before tearing himself away with a groan, and setting his sights on the princess’ chambers.

Up, up, up the stairs, and down the long corridors. There had once been a time that Forsythe would have felt immensely guilty for walking on the castle’s thick floor rugs in a dirty pair of boots—and he still did sometimes—but it had been far too long a day for him to care. Let the princess look askance at his dirty boots and common clothes all she liked, it wouldn’t matter to him; not one bit.

Past the first set of guards, with their stoic faces and unmoving lips, and then past the second set; one of whom called after him as he passed, “Her Highness has been asking for you.”

And then, at last, the doors, both opening with a push of his hands, and into the princess’ rooms.

It was empty.

“Princess?” Forsythe called, stepping further into the room, glancing about.

Everything appeared to be as it should be—pillows flung against the back of the low couch; covered silver tray sitting on the table; writing desk slightly disturbed, as if someone had been using it recently; and no fire burning in the grate. And even that, despite the time of year, was not unusual—Forsythe couldn’t remember a single instance where the princess had requested that a fire be lit in her room. Probably she found it too warm.

“Is that you, Jughead?” Princess Veronica answered from one of the other rooms, her voice causing Forsythe to release the breathe that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Well you’ve certainly taken your time.” entering the room as she spoke, her gown sweeping along behind her on the floor.

Forsythe’s gaze was caught be her hair, which she had once again let loose from it’s braids and entanglements—leaving it to hang around her face and over her shoulders. He disliked this habit of her’s—something about the thick, blackness of it irritated him. Nobody else allowed their hair to go unbound—it just wasn’t practical with the constant ocean breeze—and surely she must’ve learned that by now, so why didn’t she comply to it?

The unspoken question settled somewhere deep inside Forsythe’s stomach—twisting in a way that he refused to put to anything but hunger, and before he could stop himself he blurted out, “Do you ever put that tangled mess of yours away, Princess?”

Dropping down onto the sofa, she rolled her eyes at him and scoffed.

“I don’t have any wish for your opinions on my hair, Jughead, and you needn’t act so very like a bear.” pointing at the still covered tray “I had the kitchen send up your dinner when I’d heard that you had returned, so you can go and eat it without hurling any further abuse upon me.”

Forsythe winced, and moved over to the table, lifting the trays cover sheepishly. Sure enough, there was the meal he had smelled as he’d gone past the dining hall—meat, potatoes, and a few slices of bread.

“Where’s Ethel?” he asked from around the bread, dropping into one of the chairs.

He heard her sigh—probably because of his lack of manners—and shift her skirts along the fabric of the sofa.

“I let her have the evening off—I don’t feel inclined to go down to tea, and I’m perfectly capable of undressing myself.”

Forsythe nearly chokes on his bread at that bold statement; but she doesn’t let the words solidify, instead running into her next sentence.

“I could have let you off for the night I suppose, but I needed—that is, I would like to ask you something.”

“And what might that be be?”

“Well—and I believe I have the right to know this—where did you go off to today? When I gave you permission to leave I’d assumed that it would only be for the afternoon. I was stuck in my room until dinnertime because of you.”

Forsythe sighed, swallowing the last of his meat, and glanced over to her.

“Oh, and I’m sure that that was the highest of inconveniences—not being able to spend _more_ time with the royal family.”

“That is not the poi—Alright, but even if I _was_ relieved to be away from them that isn’t the point of my question. Where were you all day?”

“Where I was is none of your business, Princess, it’s mine; and mine alone.”

He kept his gaze studiously focused onto his plate as he spoke, ignoring the sounds of her movements behind him, and shoving the last of his potatoes in his mouth as she settled into the chair across from him.

“I learned something about you today.” brown eyes wandering across his face—taking in every last piece of him.

“Really.” he answered dryly, still not looking at her.

“Yes, really.” leaning forward and staring intently at him “I was talking with Archie this afternoon and he told me something rather interesting about you.”

A flash of panic, and blood filled Forsythe’s mouth from where he had bitten the inside of his cheek.

“ _Archie,_ has always had a larger mouth then was good for him—although I suppose that it is handy for when he needs to fit his foot in it as well.”

She frowned at him, pushing her dark eyebrows together.

“I would have thought that someone who had been raised as the son of a duke would have better manners.”

“I and I would have thought that a princess such as yourself wouldn’t have stuck her nose where it didn’t belong—but I see that we’re both destroying expectations this evening.” shoving his plate away from him with a grunt.

“I did not, ‘stick my nose in’ as you so elegantly put it. Archie asked where you were and when I told him that I didn’t know he told me. You don’t think that I go about wanting to hear the intimate life details of people I dislike, do you?”

Forsythe stood abruptly. His head was beginning to throb and unlike his father, he couldn’t very well strangle the princess until he felt better. He leaned against the window, pressing his forehead onto the glass—holding on tight to the brief sensation of coolness that it provided him.

There was a pause, and when she spoke again it was in a less aggravated tone.

“I’ll have you know that you are getting mud all over my floor. It’s simply astonishing to me how wet it is here.”

Forsythe remained silent; his eyes tightly closed, and he heard her rise to her feet behind him.

“Jughead, I am sorry. I didn’t mean too—that is…I’m not trying to shame you for being bastard-born—it doesn’t matter so much in the lower rankings of royalty. Because it doesn’t matter to to the royal line; and Duke Fredrick has son by marriage so—“

“I’m not.” Forsythe interrupted, turning at last to face her, feeling the bones in his jaw stiffen.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m not bastard-born.” he elaborated through gritted teeth “Duke Fredrick raised me as his son since I was five years of age, but he is _not_ my father, nor is Archie my brother—in anything but mutual affection.”

Her brown eyes shone as they looked up at him, and Forsythe did his best to quell the sickening twist that was piercing through his abdomen.

“Oh…So, you are an orphan then like—“

Forsythe sucked in his breath as if she had struck him.

“What I am is none of your concern, Princess.” he snarled, stepping first back and then around her, ignoring the widening of her eyes—the sound of her voice as she called for him to return.

Out through the door, into the hallways. Down steps, up steps, searching, searching; but for what. Forsythe wasn’t sure.

Through a dusty doorway, into the now abandoned nursery. He closed the door behind him with a thud and sank to his knees—his head in his hands—fingers digging through his hair, into his scalp.

The cries of a child seemed to echo through the room, in his ears; and those eyes—her eyes were still there, watching him, pitying him.

Why couldn’t he seem to escape those wide, wild, brown eyes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sentence fragment taken from Elizabeth Glaskell's 'Wives and Daughters'
> 
> Please read the book if you have the chance, it is an excellent book that deserves so much more attention then it gets! <3<3<3


	5. A Fearful Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am looking for a sense of peace after the passing of my parents. Kevin told me of help he had received here from you and the rest of your followers, and I hoped you could do the same for me.”
> 
> “You come in search of respite for your grief? That is a most worthy cause indeed, and I shall be most honored to add you—Evelyn,” addressing the woman who Kevin had been speaking to, and who Veronica had observed becoming more and more displeased throughout the exchange “do not worry yourself, my child. The gods will not be angry to be called upon in a case such as this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of writing and several bouts of writers-block I finally have a new chapter for you all! This is the longest chapter so far and it is also the reason for like, half the tags on this story.
> 
> That being said, MAJOR trigger warning for this chapter. Anyone who has read the tags will know what is coming but for those who are squeamish I've come up with a solution- When you see this (***) skip ahead until you see it again and you will only have to deal with a small recap of what you missed.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know in the comments if you enjoyed! <3<3<3

“All I know is, that this is the last time I attempt to connect on a deeper level with anyone below me in rank. It simply is not worth it.”

Kevin laughed, shaking his head at Veronica's petulant tone.

“Well if that’s the truth, then Your Highness and I are going to have a very one sided relationship. Roll that please, and open.” popping a freshly sliced strawberry into Veronica’s waiting mouth.

“I suppose you are right,” taking the rough rolling pin Kevin offered her and setting to work on the pie crust they had just finished mixing into creation “I would be loathe to lose your entertaining commentary. But as far as _Jughead_ goes, he can may take a very long walk off of the tallest battlement he can find for all I care.”

“Is it really still as bad as that?” Kevin asked, sympathetic to the extreme.

“No, it is worse. It’s like he’s trying to make things as uncomfortable as possible for me—all because I was wicked enough to ask interested questions about his upbringing. Is that some sort of crime here, and I just wasn’t informed?”

“Oh, come now, Your Highness, it can’t be that awful. Sounds to me as if you just need an activity of some sort—keep your mind off things.”

Veronica scoffed.

“Believe me, I have tried that; but he never leaves my side. Why, even when I’m with Archie—there is Jughead, sinister and silent, hovering over my shoulder. If I could only leave the castle grounds; I know that the fresh and free air would do me a world of good—but he would never let me go alone, and what good would it be to escape _with_ the very thing you are trying to escape from?”

Kevin, who had halted in his chopping the moment Archie’s name had dropped from Veronica’s lips, smirked, then said, “I’m sure that Lord Archibald would be happy to assist you in any way he could, Your Highness.”

“Your tone sounds terribly close to insinuating, Kevin, an occurrence I am sure you will take care not to repeat. Archie has been a very good friend to me since my arrival, and I wouldn’t wish it to seem like there was an ulterior motive on either side.”

“Of course not, Your Highness. But,” and here Kevin’s eyes gleamed wickedly “if a report of the opposite nature were to reach the ears of a certain princess, I’m sure you wouldn’t feel a need to deny it.”

“Kevin, darling,” handing the rolling pin back to him and massaging her wrists “it is as if we are of the same mind.”

“And what a sinister place it would be if we did, almost as sinister as a certain bodygu—Good evening.” Kevin finished hastily, straightening and swallowing with an exaggerated gulp—his gaze darting from Veronica, to whoever was behind her and back again.

Veronica rolled her eyes, already aware that Jughead was standing behind her due to the too familiar chills that always ran up her spine when he was in the room, and sighed loudly.

“Jughead. I should have known you were just around the corner; I was just beginning to enjoy myself after all, and we certainly cannot have that. Whatever would the commonwealth think?”

He released a sigh loud enough to rival Veronica’s own and stepped nearer—close enough for Veronica to be able to feel the heat of his torso through the material of her dark grey, linen gown and sundry underthings.

“As strange as it may be to you, Princess, I doubt that they have given much thought to the matter.”

“Does that mean that you are admitting to being overly obsessed with my day to day goings on?”

“Do you honestly believe that? Is it possible, Princess, that you really think I enjoy watching you sit and read for unending hours at a time, or taking long walks through the garden while you stop and simper over each new rose-bud?”

“Strawberry?” Kevin asked.

The single word brought Veronica back to herself—reminded her where she was. True, the kitchens where hardly busy at this time in the evening, but you never knew. Besides, it was hardly fair to force Kevin to listen to yet another of her and Jughead’s arguments. 

Therefore, she bit back any retort against Jughead; instead forcing a thin smile and extending a hand for the strawberry, saying, “Thank you, Kevin. For everything, as always.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“What, with my multitude of social obligations?” rising from the wooden bench she’d been sitting on and smiling brightly at him. “Good night.”

“Good-night, Your Highness. Jughead.”

Jughead gave Kevin a terse nod, and together he and Veronica left the kitchens, leaving Kevin seated at the table, a pile of uncut strawberries before him.

“You didn’t have to be rude; he was just wishing us a good nights rest.”

“I wasn’t rude. I take care not to become too familiar with anyone—no exceptions.”

Veronica glanced up into Jughead’s face, but he kept his eyes forward—face expressionless.

“Has anyone ever told you that you a rather cold person?”

He shrugged.

“It doesn’t really matter, Princess. It is not my job to coddle people—I’ll save your life, but I will not become a part of it.”

“My life?” Veronica asked—they were nearing her rooms.

Jughead hesitated, then shook his head.

“No, not your life specifically, Princess. Just the life that I happen to be protecting at that point in time.”

They passed the first set of guards, then the second, and then Veronica’s door loomed imposingly before them. Veronica—ignoring the sense of foreboding that had settled inside her stomach—barged through the door; preparing to close it as soon as she was inside. Before she’d had the chance to however, Jughead stuck his hand between the door and the wall, preventing her.

“I wish you pleasant dreams, Princess.”

His voice sounded hesitant through the heavy oak, and unable to see him; Veronica could almost imagine a gentle expression covering his face—to match with his suddenly soft voice. But no, Jughead was not the sort of man to change his feelings so quickly. Veronica strengthened her resolve, and answered firmly,

“Goodnight, Jughead.”

His fingers withdrew without another word, and Veronica lost no time shutting and locking the door behind him.

* * *

The first thing Veronica was aware of the next morning was the sensation of silk under her fingertips, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Her eyes drifted open, lazily taking everything in—a set of fluttering curtains, a buzzing fly, and an unfilled water jug; meaning that Veronica had awoken before Ethel’s arrival for once.

The fly flew closer, and landed on one of the wooden posts of Veronica’s bed; still buzzing loudly.

_It seems strange that a single fly could make that much noise._ Veronica thought to herself, lifting herself to a seated position and rubbing her hands over her face.

Veronica watched as the fly—still buzzing—left it’s perch and flew, up, up, up. Her gaze followed it—her attention trapped by the insignificant insect.

Up, and up, and up, and at last Veronica’s ear splitting scream pierced the air.

A thundering of footsteps—and a half second later both sets of guards and Jughead burst into the room to find Veronica pressed into the corner—having leapt from her bed—her hands, face, and chest covered in blood.

“Don’t!” she cried, lifting a hand to halt Jughead’s nearing “I am not hurt—it isn’t mine—but oh! won’t anyone take it away?"

“Princess…take what away?” Jughead asked, his gaze following the direction Veronica indicated.

For hanging above the bed; still dripping fresh, liquid blood upon her sheets; hung the severed head of a bear, a white envelope pinned between it’s lifeless eyes with a sharp knife.

She heard Jughead suck in a deep breath, and watched as he took a small step forward; straining his neck to look directly up at the stump like thing.

“You will need more men to take this down—and call some footmen to clear the bed away—it would be cruel to ask the maids to.”

Veronica screwed her eyes closed as the men moved forward. The smell of the blood filled her nostrils, and her fingers were beginning to stick to one another—the soaked skin connecting and holding tight. 

“Princess.” Jughead murmured; and she could feel the weight of his hands settling on her shoulders “Did you see who—“

“Oh, don’t—I cannot…I cannot do this now!” she cried, bursting away from him and darting to door.

Veronica hurried out of the room and outside—with Jughead following close behind and servants staring after her as she passed them by; no doubt wondering what had happened. She knew that it would have been better for her to stay in her room until news of the occurrence had finished spreading throughout the castle, but Veronica also knew that she could not have stood among the horror any longer then she already had.

The fresh air hit sharply against her face; it’s cold colliding with the sweat that had broken out all over her body and setting her shivering. Veronica took a deep breath in—expecting to catch the salty scent of the ocean but her only reward was a harsher renewal of the smell of blood. It had filled her—was choking the life out of her.

Veronica was vaguely aware that Jughead was speaking to her as she backed against the wall, but any sense of what he was saying was lost in the blood roaring in her ears. She heaved once, twice, a third time—until at last the one-time contents of her stomach laying pitifully, and half-covered, in the grass.

Jughead remained silent, keeping his back to her till it was clear that she had finished, then turning to her said, “It would be best for you to wash yourself and dress as soon as possible—I expect you wouldn’t like to appear before the king in your current condition.”

Biting her lip, Veronica lifted a hand subconsciously to her thick braid of hair. With Jughead staring down at her—dressed only in her nightgown without even a shawl to wrap around her shoulders—Veronica was acutely aware of how exposed she was, but the thought of returning to the sight of that horrific carcass petrified her more then she liked to admit.

“Why would he wish to speak to me anyhow?” Veronica asked petulantly.

She knew that she must’ve sounded very childlike and ignorant, but if degrading herself slightly managed to stall the invertible who was Veronica to argue with it?

“He won’t wish to—that is he won’t if you’re to allow me to be a messenger between you.”

“But I do not know anything! I did not wake through the whole night—I heard nothing, saw nothing, I have no information to give that would aid in discovering who could have done this thing!”

“And you would be prepared to swear to that?” Jughead asked, stepping nearer to her “I will not go to the king with false testimony.”

“Do you believe that I would lie?” Veronica exclaimed, glaring up at him, irritated by his calm expression and direct gaze that seemed so completely unfazed by her lack of proper attire.

“Of course not, _Princess_.” he answered, hissing the words out from around his gritted teeth “But—“

“But, nothing!” Veronica interrupted “If you do not doubt my word, then you can have no possible qualms in bringing it before King Harold!”

Jutting out her chin towards him, Veronica was pleased to see that her words had brought on a reaction. Although his face remained unmoved; his eyes burned with emotion, and he took another step forward—an act which caused him to completely loom over her.

Veronica swallowed thickly, grimacing slightly at the acidic taste that still lingered, and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a voice calling out.

“Jughead, I have just heard the news—they told me that you’d been seen coming this way—is it true that—oh!” 

Archie halted, both in movement and speech as he rounded the corner and caught sight of the two of them; his cheeks flushing red at the sight of Veronica in her state of undress.

“I…uh…I—Your Highness, forgive me, I had no idea…” Archie’s words stuttered to a close and he glanced awkwardly from one to the other; twisting his signet ring around his finger anxiously.

Jughead narrowed his eyes, in what Veronica put down as confusion at Archie’s embarrassment, and then stepped forward—half covering her as he did so.

“You and the Princess must forgive me, Archie; I’m afraid that I was in such a hurry to evacuate the princess from her rooms that I neglected to procure a covering for her before doing so. Therefore, if you would be so kind as to wait for my return after I have escorted Princess Veronica back to her rooms…”

“What? Oh, yes, certainly!” Archie agreed.

Giving the taller boy a nod, Jughead guided Veronica to the door. Veronica did not attempt to meet Archie’s eye as she passed him; not that she would have been able to even had she wished it—for he kept his gaze respectfully upwards—away from her.

They returned to her rooms silently; Jughead because silence was his usual state, and Veronica because every step was bringing her closer to a place she was uncertain would ever regain the sense of safety it had once had.

Most of the men, the bear’s head, and even her bed itself, had already been removed by the time she and Jughead entered. The remaining men stared at her, some of them quizzically—others with true and untempered sympathy—but Veronica ignored them all, instead crossing to the water jug which had evidently been filled in her absence, and began to wash the now dried blood from her hands.

“You can finish in here later—I’ll tell you when.” Jughead directed; and one by one the men left the room, leaving just Jughead behind.

“Princess…”

The water had gone from clear to red inside the pure white porcelain bowl, and although her hands were long since cleaned of any blood, Veronica couldn’t seem to stop scrubbing her handkerchief over them—over and over and over—washing away what was no longer there.

“Princess.” 

_I really should answer him._ Veronica thought to herself; still scrubbing. 

She said nothing however, only looked up into the mirror that hung above the small table. Her reflection looked back at her—wide eyes shining dully out of a blood-caked face, wisps of black hair plastered against her temples. It truly was a horrific sight—monstrous and gory.

_“Strength, Mija. Remember what your mother said about tears.”_ came her father’s voice in her ear; cold, assured.

A movement showed itself behind her in the mirror. Veronica tore her eyes away from her own face just long enough to register that Jughead had stepped behind her—was watching her reflection with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I wouldn’t say your hands were bloodstained any longer.”

“These hands?” she asked mockingly, lifting them from the water “I don’t believe that these hands shall every be free of blood—no hands that participate in war ever are, are they?”

He sighed, reaching around her and plucked the handkerchief from Veronica’s fingers; then—without turning her to face him—Jughead began to wipe the blood from her face in slow, measured movements.

She stilled at his touch, but did not move away, instead merely lowering her eyes as he spoke again—closer this time; almost in her ear.

“The note that was pinned to the bear’s head…I haven’t given it to King Harold yet. I thought you might like to read it, and I am sure that the king will not wish you to after he has gotten his hands on it.”

“Careful,” Veronica replied, her voice strangely hushed “some might say that sounded like treason.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly—but he said nothing, and neither did she as he continued washing her. Her face clean, he went on to her jaw and neck—pressing his fingertips against her forehead to encourage her head backwards; to give himself a clearer view.

Watching the ceiling, Veronica found herself listening to Jughead steady breath—which was shockingly loud in the silence that surrounded them.

He had retreated back into his shell then—the shell that had surrounded him since the fateful day that she’d asked him about his parents. Jughead was not impenetrable, not like Veronica knew she was, but it took many harsh words and raised tones to get an emotion from him; and even then his reactions were only angry, biting words.

Not like Archie, who always had a kind word or look for her if she asked for it. Veronica wondered what he thought of what he had seen that morning—what he had thought of her. He had seemed embarrassed enough, but that embarrassment had, strangely enough, been divided between both her and Jughead equally.

_For what reason would Archie be embarrassed by Jughead?_ she wondered _Being embarrassed by my appearance I could understand, but what possible reason could he have for—_

Veronica was broken from her thoughts by the sensation of a droplet of water rolling down under the neckline of her nightgown, and, as if on instinct, she tore herself away from Jughead’s almost-embrace, heat rushing over her cheeks.

“I can do the rest myself, thank you very much, so if you would give me the letter to read, you may be on your way.”

Jughead, who had started back slightly at her sudden movement shook his head, frowning.

“I can let you read the letter for yourself, but after that I must bring it before the king—as evidence.”

“As evidence of what? I have no more faith that the perpetrators of this action against me will be caught then I do that my would-be-assassin shall be!”

“The king has men out, everyday, gathering intelligence, Princess! Surely you are not quite such a fool as to think that a case can be built against someone in a single afternoon!”

“Are you going to let me read the note or not?” Veronica demanded, ignoring the rest of Jughead’s words.

He said nothing as he jerked the note from the small leather bag, that always rested at his side, and handed it to her—but the muscles in his jaw twitched angrily.

Veronica opened the note, her anger and embarrassment momentarily forgotten as her eyes scanned it’s contents.

“Ne sanguis in domo tua et ex effuderit prosilit venis cruor. Caput tuum ut scilicet separaretur tunc erit.” she murmured.

“Let the blood of your family be spilt from your veins. Your head shall be the next to be severed.” Jughead translated, his back to her as he stared towards where her bed had once been.

Veronica jerked her gaze to his back, surprised.

“You know Latin?”

“I know enough.” he grunted, walking back to her and taking the note from her hand “I’m going to speak to King Harold now; the guards will have returned to their posts by this time, I’m sure.”

“And that’s supposed to be a comfort to me?” she called after him indignantly, but he had already left—closing the door behind him with a thud.

“Loathsome man.” Veronica muttered.

* * *

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of _almost_ -activity. Many things were said and many things were done, but none of them affected Veronica until it was announced that Archie and his father were being sent off—Lord Fredrick to his estate and Archie to a undisclosed location. Veronica had not been given the chance to wish Lord Fredrick safe travels, but Archie had sought her out to wish her a private farewell.

“I shall miss your sparkling conversation, Your Highness.” he had told her, taking her small hand in his.

“As will I.” Veronica had assured him “I am sure that the castle dinners shall be far less amusing after you have gone.”

“If I truly thought that…but perhaps it is better as it is.”

His eyes had been gentle as he spoke—his tone affectionate—but he had not tread further and Veronica respected him for it. It was rare, in her experience at least, for a young man to be responsible enough to hold himself back from expressing his feelings as Archie had done. Veronica could not have accepted him—he not touched her heart enough for that—but she was flattered; and respected the earnestness of his feelings enough to only _hint_ to her fair-haired rival what had transpired. Veronica found herself truly missing his companionship however, and therefore focused her attentions and time on her second favorite, Kevin, who’s fun-loving, gossiping nature, guaranteed her a willing listener whenever she asked for one.

“What is that you spend your time doing, Kevin—when you aren’t on duty or acting as playmate to me?” Veronica asked.

It had been a week since Archie and his father had left the castle, and no further evidence had been discovered—not that Veronica was positive that she would have been told if it had. King Harold kept his intelligence close to his chest, and Jughead had been even more withdrawn and silent then usual—a fact that had resulted in Veronica not having a constant shadow hovering over her.

They were sitting just outside the castle’s entrance, their backs against the stone wall and a basket of refreshments between them. Leaves had begun to fall overnight, but it was warm in the sun; so Veronica had suggested a picnic to enjoy the weather while it lasted

“Oh, nothing very entertaining, Your Highness.” Kevin answered “I go to the tavern, or to see my father at the smithy—just ordinary things I suppose.”

His voice sounded unimpressed at the thought and Veronica threw her head back, laughing aloud.

“You sound rather tired of it all, Kevin. But I won’t pity you, for ordinary is something I have begun to long for of late.”

“Are you not happy at court then?”

She shrugged, pulling another slice of an apple from the basket as she admitted, “It is not the court itself which I dislike—one court is much the same as another—but it is rather that I do not believe that I shall ever be ‘happy,’ as you put it, again. The fact is, that I once had a home, and I once had a family, and now I have neither.”

She could feel Kevin’s eyes on her, but she didn’t turn her head to see whether he was looking upon her with sympathy or judgment. It mattered very little either way—she did have a longing for her parents, despite their actions, and Veronica did not feel inclined to hide the fact any longer. Not from Kevin at any rate.

“The war…it took many; on both sides.” he began, haltingly “I had a…a friend—a soldier in the king’s army—he was one of the first to be called to the front. He died in the Battle of Red River…”

Veronica bit on her lip; hard. The Battle of Red River had been one of the first large battles of the war—her father’s soldiers had won that particular skirmish, but there had been many causalities on both sides; too many. She could still remember the look on her father’s face when he had been told the estimated death count—the lose of blood in his face; how he had reached over and gripped her mother’s hand while thanking the man for bringing the information to him.

“I remember that he was so eager to go, to prove himself. His father had been a general you see—all Moose ever wanted was to make him proud.”

Veronica shook herself from her memories and tried to refocus on Kevin’s stream of words, for now that he had begun it seemed that he could not stop.

“It sounds like you two were very close.”

Kevin shrugged, picking at his fingernail.

“We were—sometimes. But we hadn’t been in those last few months; he’d wanted me to come with him you see, but I’m not the sort who would do well on the battle field. We argued about it many times—and the long and the short of it was that he went and I stayed—and many’s the night that I’ve regretted it.”  
There was a pause—a young girl passed, her arms filled with wildflowers—and Veronica murmured, hesitantly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” Kevin asked, his gaze swiveling from the ground to her face.

“If it were not for my family—my kingdom—“

“But that’s not your fault, Your Highness!” he interrupted “In all truth, King Harold was the one to invade, not your father, and anyhow, all their deaths were pre-ordained—that is what Edgar has told me.”

“Edgar?”

Kevin face faltered for a moment, and when he looked towards Veronica again his expression was grave.

“Listen, Your Highness…If I tell you something, will you promise not to breath a word of it to the royal family?”

“I…” she paused, considering “It is not anything…illegal; is it?”

“No, Your Highness! Nothing of the sort!”

“Or traitorous?”

“Your Highness, I swear that it is nothing that could cause harm to anyone—it is merely a private matter, that I shouldn’t wish to be spread about the castle.”

“Oh, well if that is all,” Veronica said, waving away the supposed improprieties with her hand “you may share as much as you like—I swear not to say a word.”

Kevin nodded, then leaned towards her and began to whisper quickly into Veronica’s ear.

“There is a…a traveling, religious group who has taken up camp at the edge of the forest for the past fortnight—“

“A religious group? Kevin, surely you know how dangerous and immoral groups like that can be; they come, take your money, then go—and there are many, I believe, that speak out openly against the church, encouraging people to abandon their faith in favor of pagan gods!”

“But Edgar and his followers do not care for any worldly possessions!” Kevin responded, to eager to continue his explanation to care that Veronica had interrupted him “All that Edgar wishes to do is provide comfort to those who lost loved ones during the war—he knows things, you see, things that he would have no way of knowing if what he said was not true, Your Highness."

“What sort of things?” Veronica asked, her curiosity piqued by Kevin’s vague description.

He hesitated, then stood; extending a hand to her.

“Your Highness, I should like to bring you meet Edgar, if you should like to—he shall be far better at explaining then I.”  
Veronica’s mind raced—torn between her natural curiosity and the knowledge that it was far more dangerous to her outside the castle walls then it was within them.

“Kevin, I—“

“Is everything all right here, Princess?”

Irritated, Veronica allowed Kevin to help her to her feet and turned to Jughead, scowling.

“Yes, _Jughead_ , everything is fine. Kevin was just inviting me to go with him on a walk.”

Jughead, who had begun shaking his head even before Veronica had finished speaking, broke in.

“It isn’t safe for you outside the palace without a fully armed escort—I can’t allow it.”

His words merely echoed the sentiments that Veronica herself had already thought over; but hearing them from him, with his tone of superiority, caused her to set her teeth in frustration.In truth, she did not really have much of an interest in Kevin’s mysterious ‘Edgar,’ but if going were to put Jughead’s nose out of joint, then it was more then worth it.

Her mind made up, Veronica smoothed her skirt, and, looking up into Jughead’s face, said, “Well then, it is a very good thing that I am not asking for your permission. I wish to go, I have an escort who is willing to take me, and therefore I shall do as I like.”

“On the contrary, you do not have a willing escort, because I refuse to take you.”

“I wasn’t talking about you—Kevin is going with me, so I will have no need of your services. Besides,” she added “it isn’t like your being with me would be any deterrent to a would be assassin—indeed, if we have learned from past experience, it is that I am more likely to be attacked if I am in your presence.”

That, at last, pierced the armor. Veronica was pleased to see Jughead flush and bit down on his lip, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her.

_Good._ Veronica thought smugly to herself _Perhaps that will teach him not to pull rank on royalty._

The silence hung thickly around them. She knew that more time then was necessary had been spent with her staring up into Jughead’s face—her hands curled into loose fists at her sides—and that Kevin undoubtably was waiting eagerly to be gone; but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from Jughead’s angry face.

Veronica wondered if Jughead was going to step nearer to her—she almost expected him to do so, although she couldn’t have said why—but he did not. Instead, he gave her a stiff nod of acceptance, and turned away; disappearing back behind the castle walls.

Releasing the breath that she hadn’t know she was holding, Veronica turned to Kevin, asking with a slightly forced smile, “Off we go then?”

* * *

Veronica was honestly not certain what she had expected of Kevin’s mysterious camp. Bands of wandering travelers had never been encouraged in her father’s kingdom, after all, but from she had seen so far, it was an altogether cleaner living situation then she had expected.

“This is a…a friend of mine from the castle.” Kevin was telling a red-haired woman “I brought her to meet Edgar.”

The woman turned, her eyes scanning Veronica up and down, frowning.

“Edgar be no meeting anyone today, not with the ceremony tonight—so this ‘ere wee lass will ‘ave to wait till it be more convenient for ‘im.”  
Kevin’s eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words as he answered.

“Oh, the ceremony, yes of course, I…I—You are quite right—I should not have—“

“What is this about the ceremony?” called a voice from behind them, causing all three to turn and face the speaker—a fair haired man with a half-smirk hovering over his face.

Kevin was the first to speak, stepping closer to the man and ringing his hands in a frantic gesture.

“Edgar! I am sorry for having disturbed you, in truth I had forgotten—well not forgotten exactly but—“

“Ease yourself young Kevin, I do not hold your lapse of memory against you—indeed, it is most natural. But pray, are you not going to introduce me to your fair companion?” turning his gaze to Veronica as he spoke.

“Of course, Edgar, this is—“

“—Cecilla.” Veronica broke in quickly “A pleasure to meet you.”

Edgar nodded to her courteously enough, but Veronica did not miss the sharp look of suspicion he shot between her and Kevin as he did so. Clearly he was not fool enough to believe their subterfuge, but it seemed that he had no plans to expose them either, at least not for the moment.

“Believe me, Miss Cecilla—the pleasure of this meeting is all mine. Now tell me, what what good wind is it that has brought you here to meet with me?”

Kevin once again opened his mouth to speak, and Veronica hurried to interrupt him.

“I am looking for a sense of peace after the passing of my parents. Kevin told me of help he had received here from you and the rest of your followers, and I hoped you could do the same for me.”

“You come in search of respite for your grief? That is a most worthy cause indeed, and I shall be most honored to add you—Evelyn,” addressing the woman who Kevin had been speaking to, and who Veronica had observed becoming more and more displeased throughout the exchange “do not worry yourself, my child. The gods will not be angry to be called upon in a case such as this.”

“But the ceremony—“

“Will go forward tonight as planned.” he answered sternly “The gods will not think us greedy for agreeing to help this poor lost soul—or have you lost your faith in the gods generosity, Evelyn?”

The girl reddened, but said nothing, and lowered her stare to the ground; evidently endeavoring to hide her rapidly gather tears from view.

“Now then, _Cecilla_ ,” Edgar continued, bringing Veronica’s attention back to him “tell me, what is it that you wish to find with us? Peace? Reunion? Assurance of a peaceful afterlife for your loved ones?”

“Peace, I suppose.” Veronica answered carelessly, for her mind was still focused on Evelyn even if her eyes were not.

“For your parents? Of course—will you tell me more about them?”

His tone was light and easy enough, but she could hear the sharp undercurrent beneath it, and Veronica began to calculate how quickly she might return to the castle—but her voice did not betray this fact as she answered him.

“They were low ranking nobles. My father died on the battlefield and my mother—“ swallowing slowly, never taking her eyes off the chiseled face before her “died during a siege on our home.”

“My sympathies for your lose, Cecilla. I shall call on the gods and ask them to—"

“Gods?”

He frowned, evidently displeased at being interrupted, “Yes, as I said—the gods. Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing, except that I have only ever been taught of one.”

“Your Hig—Cecilla!” Kevin exclaimed—his shock and indignation halted by Edgar’s raised hand.

“Kevin, my boy, would you be so good as to bring Evelyn to my tent for a glass of water? It seems that she has become rather overwrought.”

An uncomfortable moment passed. Kevin—aware of his duty to stand guard over Veronica and yet yearning to follow his teacher’s command—glanced nervously between them. 

_“Let him go, Mija. It would be better for you to take the risk then be forced to admit why you cannot let the boy leave you.”_

And so, without moving her stare away from Edgar’s, Veronica forced herself to give Kevin a stiff nod of approval. He responded to the action immediately, and taking Evelyn’s arm in his, lead the way to one of the tents that sat grouped together under the trees; his tall form casting a shadow over the girl’s short one.

“You will forgive Evelyn I hope, she is a sensitive girl—easily upset.” 

His voice had not changed it’s gentle cadence, nor had the smile disappeared from his face, but his eyes narrowed—glinting sinisterly at her in the afternoon sunlight.

“It seems that she has a great faith in these ‘gods’ you profess to have such a deep belief in.”

“Every soul here has the faith; they all believe in the honesty of my motives—something you do not evidently.”

Veronica smirked, perhaps she should have been frightened, but Veronica had known too many adult figures in her life who had wished her to take their specific view, and she had bested them all.

“Forgive me sir, perhaps I have been hasty…but then again, you _have_ neglected to provide me with any proof to believe in.”

“Proof you say? Well, if it proof that you are after…” stepping forward, Edgar extended his hands towards Veronica’s as if he wished to take them, and asked “May I?”

_“Princess…”_ warned a voice inside her head—a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jughead’s, although Veronica studiously ignored that realization as she allowed Edger to take her hands in his own.

“Are you going to read my future through my hands, sir?”

“Not your future, Cecilla, no.” looking up at her—turning her palms towards the sky “Your _fate_ is what I am seeking; and I shall not be the one to find it, the gods shall, and then you will have the proof you so desperately desire.”

Silence fell all around them, and Veronica observed that other members of the camp had begun to take notice, halting in their occupations to watch their leader practice his craft.

Edgar had closed his eyes tightly, his lids wrinkled into almost nothing, and his mouth moved in a silent series of words she could not comprehend—and when he at last opened his eyes, they had dulled considerably, staring more through then at her, and his voice had deepened to an extraordinary degree.

“You—you—you, I see you. Misty be your fate, snake tongued and dangerous. Yes—danger, surrounding you on all sides—hunting you down till it is satisfied…Your mother and father, they call for you; they yearn to have you at their side once more—but wait…there is another!”

His grip on Veronica’s hands increased, and she winced as he continued.

“I cannot…I cannot see them! But—they shall bring you terrible pain. More pain, more agony then you have ever experienced—You shall taste the sweetness of death…but it will not touch your mortal presence! We have seen you…we are coming on the backs of the wind to claim your soul—“

Edgar broke off with a gasp, tearing his fingers away from her hands, and collapsed to one knee before her; his head deeply bowed, and the assembled crowd looked on in awe. From the corner of her eye Veronica could see Kevin approaching, and as he did so, one or two of the group began to clap and cheer—at the sound of which, Edgar raised his head—exhausted but smiling—and looking up into Veronica’s face murmured, 

“Does that satisfy your need for proof, _Cecilla_?”

Kevin came back to her side—but Edgar did not wait to hear whatever he had to say; instead turning and walking back in the direction he had come from without another word to either of them. Veronica stared after him, shaken, fuming, but still in enough control of herself to turn to face Kevin when he began to speak.

“You must have a great connection to the gods, Your Highness!” he whispered excitedly “I have only seen a few other fate readings that powerful! You—if you should ever wish to take the oath—would be an excellent candidate for priestess!”

“The oath?” Veronica asked, confused.

“Indeed, Your Highness! An oath of loyalty to the gods! That is what the ceremony tonight is for—an oath taking ceremony for the new members of the camp, and a reaffirming for the currant ones. In truth, Your Highness,” lowering his voice slightly, for though they had begun to walk away from the camp they were by no means out of earshot “there is nothing so beautiful and awe-inspiring as the ceremonies—I do believe I could conceal you enough for you to be able to see it tonight—if you should like to that is.”

“Oh, believe me, Kevin,” taking his offered arm “I should like to above anything else.”

* * *

Shadows filled Veronica’s rooms to the very hilt as she lay silent in her bed—waiting with baited breath to hear the passionate boom of the courtyard clock.

She and Kevin had planned her escape during their walk back to the castle that afternoon, and up to that point, everything had gone according plan. Veronica had spent the rest of the day—excluding dinner with the royal family—in her room, which had essentially given Jughead the day off. He had left his post after tea-time, when Veronica had sent Ethel away; telling her that she could undress herself. Veronica had heard them laughing together as they left, although she had doubted that it had anything to do with her—probably some servant had been chastised, or a member of the royal family had been found sleeping in the privy.

The bell tolled loudly, and Veronica hastily rose to her feet, reaching for her shoes and thanking the good omen that must have hung over her when she had decided to remain dressed. The timing of her exit had to be exceedingly precise for it to match up with the changing of the guards, and should she fail to pass the guards before they had changed all would be lost.

The door creaked as it opened, and the guards straightened from their half-relaxed positions at the sight of her.

“Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

“No, Sir Trevor, of course not. I was simply going to use the…” Veronica inwardly cringed, but fought on as calmly as she could “the privy. It seems as if my ladies-maid neglected to…"

She trailed off, allowing them to put their own interpretation on the matter, praying silently that they would not ask for more details.

“Of course, Your Highness.” Sir Trevor again, his face flushed with embarrassment “Do you wish for one of us to accompany you? It’s not so easy to navigate in the dark.”

“No need!” Veronica hurried to assure him “I am perfectly capable of finding my own way, but I thank you.”

And so, with smile to the first set of guards and a nod to the second, Veronica hurried away from her rooms—pleased by her success, but embarrassed by the means used to secure it.

Kevin met her at the entry to the kitchens; and together they silently exited through the almost unused door that Kevin had told Veronica about during their return to the castle. The door opened into a dark and thoroughly damp tunnel, which in turn opened out into the courtyard.

This, Veronica knew, would be the most dangerous part of their escape; for although the gates were left open at night, a number of guards were posted inside the courtyard itself. Time seemed to move at the slowest possible pace it could as they snuck—from shadow to shadow—until they’d reached the gate and slipped out beyond the castle’s walls.

“Take this.” Kevin murmured as soon as the were out of earshot; thrusting a bulky, hooded cloak into Veronica’s arms.

She wrinkled her nose as she pulled it over her shoulders; the foul smelling, musty oder irritating every finer feeling she possessed; and thought longingly of the large collection of cloaks and capes she had left behind in her wardrobe.

“I could have brought my own cloak and hidden it under my skirts.”

“No, Your Highness, you’d have been seen instantly in one of those.” he whispered back, tying a matching cloak around his own neck “For you will have to hide among the bushes, and there’s nothing better for that then brown wool.”

Wind flew about them as they walked, it’s force tangling Veronica’s skirts together, and burning harshly against her cheeks. They did not speak for fear of discovery, but looking up at him occasionally, she could see the gleam of excitement and joy in Kevin’s eyes, and when he caught her eye Veronica attempted to match him—however little she really felt the sentiment.

_Are you a fool?_ she asked herself _Do you not know how dangerous this is?_

But Veronica shook the thoughts away, to focused on her mission to falter. That Edgar had known who she really was, was certain—but he had not exposed her, and that, _that_ , was what had frightened Veronica most of all. She had not believed his ‘fate reading’ for a moment; it had been vague nonsense from beginning to end; but he had intended for her to believe it, and that was why Veronica had agreed to Kevin’s proposal—to see what it was exactly Edgar had wished to bring her into.

“Careful now, Your Highness!” Kevin hissed as they drew near the camp, extending an arm to halt Veronica’s movements “You mustn’t come nearer then this until after the ceremony has begun—otherwise you shall be seen.”

_Why do you keep acting as if they should harm me?_ she wondered, irritated—but she did not speak aloud, just gave him a stiff nod and knelt down into the grass; it’s dew soaking through her skirts in a manner of seconds.

He hurried away, turning to glance back at her, at which point Veronica smiled reassuringly at him, giving herself the appearance of courage she did not feel. Kevin continued into the camp, and soon enough Veronica had lost sight of him.

The camp had become a hive of activity during their absence. Some tents had been moved aside, while others had been torn down entirely—leaving a wide open clearing within them. Veronica watched carefully as four men appeared from the trees, carrying with them the thick trunk of a tree—striped of it’s bark and stained with some dark substance that Veronica could not identify.

The red-haired woman—Evelyn, she reminded herself—entered the clearing; shocking Veronica with her appearance. That afternoon Evelyn had been dressed, if not in fine clothing, at least clothing that would have been reasonable for her position in life; but now she wore only her shift; her calfs and forearms bared to the moonlight.

“What in the world—“ Veronica muttered, then shifted her gaze back to the men and the pillar, which they had just lowered into a hole in the ground, and were now securing it in it’s upright state with ropes.

Having done this, three of the four disappeared into the blackness; leaving the final man to begin building a fire a few feet from the pillar.

More people appeared, all dressed in their underthings, and the fire roared to life under the man’s skillful fingers. Veronica edged nearer—crawling on her hands and knees—the hood of her cloak flopping down into her eyes and scratching against her skin.

“Brothers and sisters!” called out a voice, and, halting all movement, Veronica looked up towards the speaker, gritting her teeth at the sight of Edgar.

“Friends! We have gathered here on this glorious eve to welcome new souls into the arms of the gods; sisters, brothers, would you step forward?”  
A group of three moved forward—a boy and two girls—their heads bowed. Edgar went to each of them; planting his hands on each of their faces and lifting them up to face him. Veronica could see his mouth moving, but the words were either silent, or spoken too lowly for her to hear.

Wind rattled through the trees; Veronica glanced up at them uneasily, pulling the folds of the cloak around herself more tightly.

(***)

“Baaaahhh!"

Her eyes, and the eyes of the assembled group, turned to the sound instantly, and from the largest tent emerged the same four men from before—carrying a sheep between them.

The sheep’s legs were bound together, and as Veronica watched the little procession—horrified—it cried out once more; the sound both pitiful and bloodcurdling.

The crowd watched it impassively; a few even cried out in joy at the sight of it.

“Brethren!” Edgar shouted, stepping back from the new members, his arms flung outwards “Friends, the time has come at last for these new souls to prove their loyalty to the gods! Bring forth the blessed candles, bind the sacrifice, and let the music begin!”

The crowd erupted, and for a moment all was frantic activity. The sheep was lifted up and bound a few feet higher then the base of the pole, Evelyn re-appeared and handed each of the newcomers a small candle which they in turn held up to the fire to light, and instruments of various descriptions began to be played. This done, the boy and two girls stepped over to the still bleating sheep and cried, as if with one voice,

“Gods! Here our cry, and accept this sacrifice!”

The candles glowed bright in the darkness—flicked in the wind—tilted as they were tipped forwards—and Veronica buried her face in her hands, unwilling to see more. She could not, however, keep from hearing the pitiful wails, nor the savage cries of delight at the sound of them.

Though the cracks in her fingers Veronica could see them all dancing—their movements only loosely connected to the music that was being played—but above it all she could still hear the poor animals cries, pounding against the air and yet falling on deaf ears.

(***)

Still covering her face, Veronica rose hesitantly to her feet. She had not seen Kevin since their arrival, and she certainly was not going to announce her presence to these mad heathens.

A bird cried in the distance—and taking hold of her courage with both hands, Veronica turned and ran; leaving the firelight and the savagery behind her.

Her wet skirts clung to her legs as she ran, and the wild wind tore against her face. Her eyes—no longer adjusted to the darkness—failed her—she fell to her knees, once, twice, three times before see was once more within sight of the castle. The cloak choked her; the string where see had knotted it digging into her skin.

_Father!_ she silently cried out in her mind as she ran _Oh father, where are you—what would I give for you to be here with me now.  
_

The moon shone bright above her—it’s light illuminating her frantic speed—but Veronica paid it little mind until she reached the final rise in the ground before the castle’s gate.

Collapsing to her knees Veronica paused for breath, her chest heaving as she sucked the cool sea air into her lungs. Squeezing her eyes closed, she prayed desperately for the sound of bleating to leave her head, and jerked in shock at the sensation of a hand falling atop her shoulder.

“Relax, Princess, it is only me.” came Jughead’s voice, reassuringly out of the night.

She whirled to face him, squinting up through the gloom at his face as she exclaimed, “Struth!” quietly under her breath.

“What are you doing here, Jughead?”

“I was finding you!” he retorted hotly, his voice exasperated as he continued “I knew as soon as I heard that Kevin had left that you would have gone with him and so I—“ here he broke off, his words crammed into the back of his throat from the shock of Veronica throwing her arms around him and burying her head into his chest.

“It was inhuman, Jughead.” she said “They bound the sheep and then set it aflame—and they cried out in _joy_ at having done so!”

“Who did?”

“The…Those heathens—at the edge of the forest! Oh, Jughead, it was awful!”

“You didn’t go into the forest, did you?” he asked, panic lacing his words.

“No.” Veronica answered, her forehead rubbing against the soft fibers of his tunic as she shook her head.

Jughead’s chest collapsed beneath her as if he had released a deep sigh, and when he spoke again it was in a more comforting tone.

“If it is any consolation to you, I do not believe the knew precisely what it was that they were doing. The whole forest is filled with jangle-root plants, and I’m sure one of the blasted fools used it to start their fire—you reek of the scent of it, as does this cloak.” pulling the hood off her head with a non-to-gentle hand.

“Jangle-root?” Veronica asked in confusion, lifting her head to look up into Jughead's face, noting that now that she was no longer being filled by her terror, her limbs had begun to feel heavy, and her eyelids had begun to droop from exhaustion.

“It is a poisonous plant we have here,” Jughead explained “it’s occasionally used by healers to aid in subduing pain; but it’s highly addictive and may cause you to…to _see_ things that are not truly there, if you have too much of it. Is that clear Princess? Princess?”

Veronica—who had dropped off slightly during his short lecture—shook herself awake and stepped back, blinking her eyes.

“Yes, I’m awake—what is it?”

“Nothing.” he chuckled “Shall you be able to walk back to the castle with your two feet, Princess?"

“Do not patronize me, Jughead. I am perfectly capable of walking on my own!”

And so, hoping to prove her point, Veronica took a blind step forward; only to stick her foot into a divot in the ground and nearly tumble into the grass.

Thankfully, Jughead intervened—stepping forward and sweeping her up into his arms before she fall and humiliate herself to the highest degree.

“Ahh,” he grunted, the warmth of his breath washing over Veronica face as he teased her “you’re no basket of flowers are you, Princess?”

“Oh, hold your tongue, you oaf.” Veronica muttered, her eyes already drifting closed.


End file.
